


Head Over Heels

by danceswithgary



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-15
Updated: 2006-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:19:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's hard to be a model citizen. Remix/fusion of 2001 romantic comedy 'Head Over Heels'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Over Heels

Prologue

 

The sleek convertible stopped at the crossroads just outside Metropolis. His father ordering him to take over the management of the 'crap factory' in Smallville was the last straw. It wasn't bad enough that his last visit to the hellhole had left him bald, now his father wanted to humiliate him into behaving as he thought 'the Luthor heir' should. It wasn't going to happen.

The angry young man in the Porsche headed east.

 

***

 

Chapter 1

 

***  
Restoring paintings in the Renaissance division of the Metropolitan Museum was soothing. Concentrating on the silent artworks meant Clark didn't have to interact closely with people, with the exception of his aged coworkers who reminded him of the witches in 'Macbeth'. Paintings didn't lie, cheat, steal or try to hurt other paintings. Clark firmly believed there should be more paintings in the world.

Bouncing down the stairs into the basement work area, a perky blonde, whose braids and clothing displayed an avant garde approach to fashion, handed a cup of coffee to Clark. She immediately started chattering, "All right, so there's this new hottie, Paulina, I just met in twentieth century sculpture, she is so sweet, and I swear I'm going to get all up in there..."

"Chloe, you are crossing the sharing boundary again."

Chloe was his lifeline, always there when he needed her, but it didn't mean he needed *all* the details of her love life. She'd actually been one of the reasons he'd decided to move to New York City after graduating. He had missed her when she and her father had to leave Smallville after the fertilizer plant closed. In a way, she was also responsible for his focus on the arts. When she left, Clark found himself consoling her artist boyfriend, Justin, who was happy to instruct Clark in art appreciation both in and out of bed. After Justin moved on, just like all of Clark's other boyfriends, Clark's love of art remained and here he was, restoring the masters. Chloe, in turn, had never lost her zest for investigative reporting and freelanced for a number of periodicals covering almost everything from fashion to corporate scandals to UFOs.

"You seriously have to put in for a transfer Clark, Renaissance is a dead-end. You're going to end up like the menopause triplets over there."

The white-haired women in question looked up from their work murmuring "What?" "Dearie?" "Can't hear a thing."

Clark shook his head at his friend. "I don't think I could ever leave Renaissance. I would miss these paintings way too much. They're just so romantic and..."

A crash down the corridor interrupted Clark and had Chloe rummaging on the worktable for a convincing prop.

"Shit! Here comes old man Rankin. Look busy!"

A craggy-faced man made his way into the room carefully carrying an enormous canvas and Clark hurried to help him with it. "Afternoon ladies, and...young man."

There was a chorus of greetings from the group. The older man nodded and returned his attention to his prize.

"Clark, I need your help. Take a look at this piece of crap." The curator pointed to a damaged area on the canvas.

"Oh my God, that's Titian's 'The Bacchanal'. Oh!" Clark's eyes widened and he wobbled, causing Chloe to grab his elbow and steady him. There was a giggle from the work area. "There he goes again."

Rankin ignored the little flurry. "Look at this man's face here. It's completely lost. You're going to have to start from scratch on that. Put aside your other work, Clark. This is priority one for now!" He turned and left the room.

"What is it with you and the weak in the knees routine? You do it every time we get a new painting." Chloe grinned at Clark.

Blushing, Clark protested, "I do not. Not every time. When I look at this painting I can just tell these people were in love and they stayed in love until the day they died."

"Clark, it's a painting." Chloe pointed to the figures Clark was admiring. "If this was real life, in two years that girl would be pregnant and that guy would be banging a barmaid."

Clark set the painting down on a cleared space. "Maybe that's why I like art better than real life. You can stay in love forever."

With a rude noise, Chloe reminded him, "Speaking of real life aren't you supposed to have one tonight, for a change?"

"That's right; I was going to surprise Michael with dinner!" Clark began to clear up his tools.

Polly, the crone with pearls clasped around her throat, snickered.

Clark stopped. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just that you're going to die alone." Polly predicted.

The deaf member of the trio, Mabel, said, "What?"

Agnes, the stout one shouted, "He's going to die alone!"

"Oh," was all Mabel said and she lowered her head back to her task.

Clark refused to think about a certain circle of gravestones and asked, "Seriously, why do I need a personal life if my work makes me happy?"

Polly retorted, "Because work isn't enough, you need someone to share your life with and if you give up on that now it might not be so easy to find later."

Rankin stuck his head out of the door down the hall and yelled, "Polly, can I see you in my office. I need to have a look at the ...restoration reports." He smoothed his moustache and pulled his head back inside.

Polly got up immediately and hummed happily, as she went into the office and closed the door behind herself, firmly.

Eyes wide, Clark turned to Chloe and whispered in horror, "God, do you really think that could be me someday?"

Chloe patted him on the shoulder. "No, if it got that bad I'd shoot you and put you out of your misery."

"I'm going to go cook dinner for Michael."

 

...

 

Clark was feeling quite cheerful as he balanced the grocery sacks and opened the apartment door. "Michael?" He dropped the bags in the kitchen and decided to check on the noises he heard in the bedroom. He was greeted with the sight of a naked longhaired brunette writhing on top of...his boyfriend.

"Oh shit, Clark, this isn't what it looks like."

"Really, Michael? It looks like you're having sex with a woman from the cover of a lingerie catalog, in our bed!"

 

***

 

Chapter 2

 

***

 

"Clark, you know what your problem is? You think everyone is basically good and you fall for them right away."

"There are 4 million guys in New York City. Why can't I find a good one? Just one?" Clark flopped on Chloe's bed, scattering the crumpled tissues and empty ice cream containers. "This has been happening to me since grade school. First, it was girls leaving me for other guys, then girls leaving me for other girls and then when I finally figured out I really didn't want the girls, it was the guys leaving me for other girls or other guys. Is there a sign on my back that I can't see that says 'Go ahead, lie to him, he's easy'?"

Clark had left Smallville hoping that he would have a better chance at romance in a big city, maybe finally finding someone he could share all his secrets with and be happy. He was beginning to think he'd have better luck if he joined a monastery.

Chloe rubbed his back. "Remember when you saw the Titian and got weak in the knees? Have you ever felt that way about a guy?"

"Please, most men don't get weak in the knees over a guy." Clark recalled shooting fire from his eyes once or twice, but his knees had definitely been solid. Not even a quiver.

Chloe giggled, "No, but most people don't get weak in the knees over a painting!"

"Well, I understand paintings and I know what I feel for them is real. Men, they're just...complicated. I think what I need to do right now is to just focus on work and forget about men." Clark swept the debris off the bed and into the trashcan before climbing under the covers.

"I think that's the smartest thing you've said all night." Chloe snuggled down next to him and slid her hand across his chest. "Is this OK?"

Lying rigid, eyes wide open, Clark stammered, "I think I'll start looking for a place on Saturday." Chloe's hand moved a little lower.

Clark squeaked. "Or tomorrow." He scrambled out of the bed. "I think I need to take a walk and get some fresh air. A very long walk, I'll be gone a couple of hours maybe." Saving tourists from muggers, walking through fires or even rescuing cats from trees would be excellent alternatives to staying in the bed with Chloe right now.

Now that he thought about it, Clark realized he'd been having trouble sleeping for the last eight or nine months and that his nightly 'walks' most likely contributed to his breakups with Peter, Nigel and finally Michael. In fact, they probably believed *he* had been cheating on *them* first. Great.

 

...

 

Apartments in Manhattan were never easy to find. When Clark found the flyer with outrageously low rent posted on the bulletin board of the local market, he headed right over to check it out. It was located in a beautiful old building with wrought iron doors and carved cornices. Clark hoped he wasn't too late as he approached the desk where the elderly doorman was dozing. "Hi, I'm going up to apartment 9? Hello?" When the doorman didn't wake up, he decided to head for the elevator.

As the elevator doors opened, Clark was confronted with an enormous Great Dane who managed to wrap his lead around Clark's knees and then pull away, so that Clark fell to his hands and knees. After Clark was on the ground, the dog started humping him while the young man who had lost the lead tried to pull him off, yelling "Hamlet, stop that, get off of him! Bad dog!" After getting Clark untangled, he helped him up, "Are you okay? I guess he likes you."

Clark looked into cool blue eyes above an irresistible smile and felt his knees start to quiver. His rescuer's amusement turned into concern as he grasped Clark's elbow and steadied him. "Whoa, I think you might still be a little shaken up."

Pulling his arm away, Clark stammered, "I'm fine, I just have...weak knees. You know, you should really learn to control yourself...I...I mean control your dog." He couldn't stop staring at the slender man with the beautiful eyes, barely registering the fact that he had no hair.

Clark forced himself to listen as the man replied to the scolding. "Oh, he's not my dog. I walk him for my neighbor. She had her hip replaced."

"Yeah, right, that's what you say to avoid a law....suit..." Hamlet jumped on Clark again and resumed his unwanted courtship. Pulling the dog away, the attractive man chastised him, "Hamlet, no means no. Stop it!" Wincing, he looked at Clark, "I'm so sorry!"

The doorman had finally roused and offered his opinion. "He's a horny bastard, isn't he?"

Clark's eyes widened in shock as he protested, "I wouldn't know, I just met him."

"I was talking about the dog," was the doorman's sardonic reply.

Clark blushed, "I knew that."

Laughing, while he tried to restrain the dog, the young man offered, "Can I get you anything like a tissue... or a cigarette?"

"No, I'm okay, really. Listen, it was nice meeting you and your huge dong. I mean his huge dong!"

The doorman snorted, "I've seen bigger."

"I meant his huge dick...his huge dog! Okay, gotta go." Clark gave up and fled towards the elevator, afraid his cheeks would explode into flames.

The man gave a small wave and called after him, "It was nice meeting you, too!"

Just as the elevator opened, Clark turned around and exclaimed, "Oh, I get it! Great Dane...Hamlet. That's clever for a dog name."

He was rewarded with another of those great smiles. "Yeah, I thought so too." The dog lunged at a passing group of women. "I've got to go!" Hamlet yanked him out of sight as the elevator doors closed.

 

***

Chapter 3

 

***

 

"This place is amazing!" Clark's mouth dropped open as he walked into the enormous central living area with an incredibly high ceiling and wide array of windows.

The extremely thin young man who had let him into the apartment introduced himself. "Devon Trask."

Clark shook his hand carefully, afraid he might break the frail-looking hand. "Clark Kent."

Devon wasted no time getting down to business. "The rent is $500.00 a month. You can pay with cash, check, money order, or cash."

"Can I see the room first?"

Walking to one of the doors at the side of the main room, Devon opened the door for Clark. He peered into the small area containing a twin bed and nightstand, and then looked at Devon in puzzlement. "It looks like a closet."

Devon responded, "Closets don't have windows." He stepped into the room, opened a connecting door and pointed inside. "Besides, *this* is the closet."

Clark gasped when he saw the space easily 4 times the size of the 'bedroom', filled with racks of clothes and shelves of footwear.

"I mean, how much room do you need to sleep? But clothes and shoes, they need their space." Devon explained.

Back in the main area, Devon asked Clark, "We have a lot of people interested. Now what is it that you do?"

"Oh, I work at..." Clark began.

Devon had heard enough. "You work? Did I mention you're at the top of the list?" He turned his head at the sound of the door closing. As another man and two women entered, he called out, "Oh, you're back! This is Clark. He works." Pulling the blond man forward, he introduced him to Clark. "This is Adrian Curay."

"Hi, nice to meet you, Adrian," Clark proffered his hand and received a perfunctory shake in return.

Adrian had a heavy Slavic accent and a sullen face. "You know what's nice? Paying the rent is nice."

The younger blond woman who had been bouncing in place pushed herself forward and asserted in an Aussie accent, "Hi! My name's Candi with an 'i'. I used to have a pet dingo named Clark."

Clark wasn't sure how to respond. "A pet dingo?"

"Yeah, me dad backed over him with a tractor and we were finding pieces of him for months. In the tops of trees, my little sister's hair..."

"Thank you, Candi." The voice from the last woman made Clark think of Smallville. As she moved to the front of the group, Devon started, "And this is..."

Clark finished, "Lana Lang!" She threw herself into his arms and he swung her around before setting her down carefully and began asking questions. "How long have you been in New York? I heard you went to Paris after you moved to Metropolis with your aunt. That's an incredible diamond. Are you engaged?"

Lana laughed at his babbling. "I've been here about 8 months. Paris was wonderful, but it was time to come home to the States, and no, I'm not engaged. It would take a whole lot more carats."

The group was amazed. "You know him? What's the deal?"

"We grew up together in a hick town in Kansas. Obviously, Clark made his escape sometime after I left for Metropolis, leaving the weirdos behind."

"Weirdos?"

"Long story. Let's just say people weren't always what they seemed to be in Smallville, right Clark?"

Clark didn't want to think about the role he played in the bizarre happenings in Smallville and was glad when Candi piped up asking, "You're not a smoker guy are you?"

"No. Why?"

She started bouncing again. "Great! That's how we all got together. We're the last four non-smoking models on the whole island of Manhattan."

"Oh my god, you're all models," groaned Clark.

Seeing Clark's distress, Devon appealed to him. "Oh, please don't envy us, we're struggling."

Clark choked out, "In this apartment?"

"Oh, our agency let's us stay here for free. That's why we like to rent out the clos...room for extra cash."

Adrian leaned over and whispered to Lana, "I don't think he likes models."

"My boyfriend just left me for a model," Clark explained. When he saw four crestfallen faces, he hastened to add, "It wasn't any of you."

Candi was visibly relieved. "Thank goodness we don't have to go through *that* again."

 

***

 

Chapter 4

 

***

 

Carrying several boxes of his possessions, Clark politely waited for the men to move out of the way so he could open the door to the apartment. He kicked the door shut behind him. Brilliant chaos reigned in the apartment as clothing was flung about while extreme makeup was applied and hair prepped. Turning away from a mirror, Adrian complained, "This shirt makes me look like heroin addict."

Devon agreed, "And not in a good way." He peeled off the silk shirt he was wearing and handed it to Adrian. "Here, take mine; I wore it last week anyway."

"Thanks, but what are you going to wear?"

Devon pointed at Clark. "I'll just take his."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "Mine?" He had left his flannel behind in Smallville, but it was hard to believe someone wanted the too-small t-shirt he'd grabbed because everything else was packed. He certainly didn't feel comfortable disrobing in front of the others yet. "Did you know there are two guys just waiting out in the hall for you?"

Lana pouted, "Only two?" She and Devon exchanged a glance. "The longer we wait, the more money they'll spend...on dinner. There are usually at least ten on the waiting list."

All four models went to the door and flipped up a large panel in the door to look out. The crowd in the hall had grown much larger and Devon flipped the panel shut and turned around. "Why don't you come out with us, Clark?"

"No, I'm not really interested in men right now." He was afraid he might have offended them so he added, "But they seem like great guys."

With a roll of her eyes, Lana said, "Yeah, they all *seem* like great guys, but you have to know what to watch for." She pulled Clark to the panel and opened it to peer out again. "See that guy? The suit's Hugo Boss but it's straight off the rack, the tie's a Gucci knockoff and those shoes? That's strictly between him and Payless."

Devon leaned over Clark's shoulder to point out another candidate. "On the other hand, look at that one, see the bulge in his pants? Either that's a gift box from Tiffany's or... Hell, I'd take the guy either way."

Clark was shocked. "So you pick relationships based on clothing and gifts?"

"No, we pick them based on personality." All the models laughed at Lana's sarcastic answer.

Adrian was getting impatient. "Pick one so we can go."

Clark shook his head, "I don't think I can afford to go out with you guys. Actually, I know that I can't."

Adrian scoffed at the thought. "We don't pay. We're models." He tilted his head in puzzlement. "What does someone like you do?"

"I'm a painting conservator at the Met, specializing in Renaissance art."

"Ohh." Adrian decided to see what was in the refrigerator.

"Right now, I'm restoring a painting. Titian's Bacchanal?"

"Okay." Devon wandered off towards the closet.

"And one of the faces is blank and there's no historical record, so it's up to me to complete it..."

Lana checked her makeup in the mirror by the door. "We should definitely talk about that later."

...

 

The apartment was quiet after the group left and Clark wandered over to the window to look out. He was startled to see Candi sitting on the sofa, reading a novel.

"Hi, Candi with an i." Clark smiled at his new roommate, who removed an odd device from her mouth.

"Oh, hello Clark." Closing her book, she leaned forward and examined his face. "Gee, you have a really symmetrical nose."

"Thanks, I guess." He searched for something to chat about. "Why aren't you going out with them?"

"Oh, I can't go out in public yet. The agency made me have an operation." She pointed to the bandages on her ears. "My earlobes were uneven."

Clark was disturbed at the thought that this lovely girl needed any surgery. "You know Candi, some of the great faces in history weren't necessarily symmetrical. The beauty is often in the flaws."

Candi tilted her head quizzically, "You're a really odd bird, you know that?"

Clark gave up and looked out the window. "Wow, we have a really great view." He noticed the apartment across the way, one floor down. "It's him!"

"It's who?"

"That guy."

By the time Candi stood up to look, the young man had moved and was peering through a large aquarium filled with tropical fish, his face distorted.

"Oh, that's Joe Alexander. We call him Mr. Fishtank. His head's not always that big, it's the water that makes it look that way."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, I know a lot about water. Australia's an island, you know."

"No, I mean how do you know his name is Joe Alexander?"

"Oh, he's a fashion executive. Lana and Devon say he's the hottest young name in the business. So you want him, eh?".

"Why do you say that?"

"That look on your face. I used to see it all the time on my Uncle Pete's face when I caught him looking at me."

"There's no look. I was just shocked because I recognized someone. In fact, I never go out with guys like that, even if I was going out, which I'm not."

"You want me to find out where he works?"

"No, I just told you I don't care if I never see him again."

 

...

 

"Hamlet, no!"

Clark's coffee cup flew out of his hands and onto the sidewalk as two heavy paws hit him from behind. He turned to find Joe Alexander wrestling with the dog.

He looked up at Clark. "I'm so sorry, again. Hamlet definitely seems to like you."

"You mean he doesn't just tackle anybody?" Clark was surprised.

Joe laughed, "No, he tackles everybody, but he only drools on his favorites."

Clark responded with a wry grin, "Well, I'm flattered."

"You're funny." The blue eyes danced in amusement and Clark wondered if his skin was as smooth as it looked and was that a scar on his lip...

Clark's knees suddenly gave out, again, and Joe caught him before he joined his cup on the ground.

"You really should have someone take a look at those knees."

Clark babbled, "You know they've never done this before. I'm going to have to see a psychiatrist...I mean a leg doctor, because obviously it's a leg problem."

Releasing Clark, Joe stepped back. "At least let me buy you another latte."

Clark shook his head. "No thanks, Joe."

"How do you know my name? I don't remember introducing myself."

"But you did, Joe. Remember I'm Clark, you're Joe and he's Hamlet. Clark, Joe, and Hamlet."

"I think I'd definitely remember a unique name like Clark." Clark decided Joe continuing to smile was deadly to his equilibrium.

"But you didn't. Anyway, sorry, I can't go out with you...for coffee. I didn't mean go out with you, just go out with you for coffee. Not even to replace this one. Which I can't. I've got the runs, I mean I've got to run. Okay, I've got to go."

Clark flattened himself against the wall around the corner from Joe and tried to stop hyperventilating. "I've got the runs?"

 

...

 

Devon, Adrian and Lana all listened avidly to Clark as he finished recounting his encounter with Joe. Seated at a table in the latest hot spot in Manhattan, they were enjoying a drink before dinner.

Lana asked, "So you won't even go out for coffee with this guy?"

Clark shook his head ruefully, "I would normally do that. I'd have coffee with him and then move in with him and then find myself alone on the beach in Waikiki while he runs off with the owner of the pearl-diving concession."

Three sets of eyes stared at him.

"It happened."

Devon took pity on Clark and gazed around the bar, his eyes settling on a young girl seated a few tables away. "Isn't that Kiki? I heard they gave her eleven million dollars."

Clark glanced at her and said, "She looks like she's fourteen."

The models chorused, "Hello, she's twelve!"

"Question? If those guys are your dates, why do you make them stand over there?" Clark pointed to the men standing at the bar.

"You've never spent an entire evening with one of these guys. It's all 'you're beautiful in that dress" and 'you're lovely in this light' and 'come marry me and be the queen of my country'." Lana flipped her hand in disdain.

Adrian agreed, "Devon worked out the 'you sit over there' system. After all, he turned down a full ride at Stanford."

"You turned down a full ride?"

Devon ran a hand down his slim form, "Darling, look at me. What do I need Stanford for?"

The waiter dropped the check on the table. "A hundred and twenty dollars?" Clark swallowed in shock when he looked at it.

Lana snagged it and held it up in the air, "That's twelve hundred dollars."

"Twelve hundred dollars!" Clark's eyes were enormous.

There was a mad rush from the bar and the winner delicately plucked the check from Lana's fingers. "May I have the honor of taking you to dinner?"

She graced him with a brilliant smile. "Thank you, you're so sweet."

Clark sat there stunned.

 

***

 

Chapter 5

 

***

 

In the darkened apartment, Candi walked up behind Clark who was staring down into Joe's windows, taking advantage of the conveniently open curtains. "If you're sure you're not interested in him, then why are you watching him?"

Clark never took his eyes off the window. "I'm not. Well, I am, but only to prove he has some huge flaw."

"How do you know that?"

Clark grimaced, "Because I'm attracted to him."

Lana joined them and pointed, "Oh, what a cute little baby, look."

"Okay, there's the flaw. There's a love child," exclaimed Clark.

"Who's that woman that just walked in?" asked Devon.

Clark was getting frustrated with his roommates who couldn't see the evidence right before their eyes. "Hello, you can't have a love child without a lover!" He continued in a low growl, "And that scumbag invited me out for coffee."

Lana just laughed, "How do you explain the husband-looking guy who just walked in with a baby pouch on his chest?"

Clark stood up and stalked to his room with a final attempt at explanation. "A little menage a trois action? I bet they don't even know which one the father is." He really needed Chloe. Why did she have to go out-of-town on that assignment? She'd understand. Maybe.

The local precinct noticed a substantial increase in the number of criminals complaining about 'a really big guy dressed in black, with a bad temper' who administered wedgies before delivering them to the police.

 

...

 

"Schoolgirls. That's sweet."

Sitting on the sofa and watching Joe's apartment had replaced television for Clark and the models, while Clark constantly tried to find something wrong with Joe's actions. "Yeah, seems sweet. Unfortunately, what we're about to find out is they're underage prostitutes dressed as Catholic girls." Clark jumped to his feet and gestured towards Joe's window. "See that, he's giving them money!"

"I think that money is probably for all the candy bars he just bought." Lana rolled her eyes at Clark's antics.

Clark suddenly recalled that Lana had never really been a good friend in Smallville and she used to wear that damn necklace all the time that made him sick. No wonder he lost track of her after she left Smallville. He grumbled, "Those little skanks are good. They even bring the props."

 

...

 

"Twenty-four, twenty-five..." the models counted happily, as Joe completed his daily pull-ups using a bar installed in the bedroom doorway. His smooth muscled chest gleamed with sweat as he moved to a weight bench and started a set of arm curls. Adrian nudged Clark and insisted, "I am looking very hard and I don't see any flaws."

Candi agreed, "He's like Mr. Perfect."

Frustrated, Clark slammed the door on the way into his room, and then sheepishly opened it again to pick up the doorknob that had fallen off.

...

 

Everyone was asleep in his or her rooms when Clark came in from his routine late night walk. Collapsing on the sofa, Clark looked across at the darkened apartment, the only light the fireplace DVD playing on a large screen television. The pale glow glinted off a tumbler held by a shadowy figure sitting in an overstuffed chair. It was a familiar scene, this dark, solitary ritual of fire and drink, and it was often the last thing Clark saw as he relaxed on the sofa and finally slept, oddly content.

 

...

 

Adrian flipped through Devon's photos of Joe, "I can't decide whether he looks better with clothes on or off."

"I have to agree, Devon, these are really great pictures," admitted Clark who couldn't take his eyes off the one where Joe was in the middle of a stretch that highlighted all of those nice, tight muscles.

"Let me see, let me see," begged Candi, who ran her fingers over the pictures. Bandages covered both eyes due to her latest cosmetic surgery, rendering her blind.

Clark sighed, "Candi, your eyes, your whole face is beautiful. Why do they keep making you get work done?"

"Bulk discount," intoned Adrian.

Devon had been avidly watching the activity in Joe's apartment. "Look Clark, he's having a party. It's probably the best time for you to go over there and talk to him."

"Except that I'm not invited."

Adrian, still flipping through the photos, shrugged, "So what, we crash."

Clark shook his head. "That's a great way to talk to someone, getting turned away from his party."

Lana walked into the room, "Who would keep models away from their party? I mean really, every man down there is going to be saying 'I wish there were more models invited."

"Stop the pose, you know you're into him," Adrian snorted.

"I am not."

"Excuse me?" Clark looked up to see Devon waving one of the sketches he had done for the Titian that clearly displayed Joe's profile.

Adrian smirked. "Busted."

Clark couldn't retrieve the sketch from the teasing Devon without using his strength or speed, so he resorted to flimsy excuses. "So, he just happens to have a Renaissance structure to his face. Besides, what's the point, he's in the fashion industry. He probably only dates..." He swept his arm dramatically, pointing to his audience.

Lana raised an eyebrow, "Promiscuous men and women?"

Appalled at Lana's implication, Clark finished his sentence. "...models." He looked down at his everyday khakis and plain Oxford shirt.

The group huddled together whispering and then surrounded Clark. "Well, if Joe wants a model, then we'll give him one!"

"No!"

He never had a chance.

 

***

 

Chapter 6

 

***

 

Clark looked at himself in the mirror and protested, "I can't wear this! I look like a...a..."

Devon didn't help, "Really hot guy?"

"Oh, you can wear it, Clark, I'm just not sure how long you'll keep it on," purred Lana.

Clark wasn't sure he was comfortable with that opinion. He certainly didn't recognize that man with the artfully tousled curls, as well as eyeliner and lip gloss carefully applied by his friends. No blush had been needed, his natural color brought out his high cheekbones without artifice. His friends had also managed to creatively age his tightest jeans, polish his black boots to a high gloss and add a black leather jacket that hugged his broad shoulders like a second skin. The gleaming white tuxedo shirt underneath set off his tanned skin and was open to just above the jeans that flaunted his generous assets shamelessly.

A thin black leather collar matched a band on his right wrist and at the last minute, Lana had supplied a heavy silver signet ring with a large faux emerald that matched his eyes. When she first brought the ring out, Clark flinched until he realized it wasn't kryptonite. He was glad that really wasn't a possibility here, thousands of miles from Smallville. He'd already had enough trouble with his traitorous knees.

 

...

 

In the elevator, the models offered Clark some final tips.

"Remember when you walk in, you're the hottest guy in the room," Devon fiddled with the collar of Clark's jacket. "And keep your cheeks clenched." Clark immediately sucked in his cheeks, imitating an extra in 'The Little Mermaid'.

"Not those," Lana snuck her hand behind Clark and squeezed. "These." Eyes wide, Clark gasped and added another layer of color to his cheekbones.

"And most important, don't forget to turn on headlights." Adrian reached out and tweaked Clark's nipples as the others followed suit on themselves.

The elevator door opened and Clark followed his strutting mentors out, speechless.

 

...

 

Spitting out a stray feather from Lana's boa, Clark stared around the room at the glitz and glitter and felt completely out-of-place. Squaring his shoulders in determination, he forced a smile to his face and began moving around clusters of 'beautiful people' in search of Joe. His hearing automatically filtered out a variety of conversations from the heavy beat of the background music.

"Joey, a piece of heaven fell into my office today, I swear to God," slurred one of the guests.

Clark turned to see Joe shake the inebriated man's hand, "And she signed with you, Nick. When did she get the third eye removed?" Moving on, Joe approached three stunning women holding champagne flutes. "Ladies, the first glass was free, this one is going to cost you." Rubbing his hands in glee, he kissed each in turn on their perfectly made-up cheeks before returning to his mingling. The women all admired the view as he walked away. Clark couldn't blame them; Joe looked great in his sleekly tailored tux. He carried off being bald in a way that made all the over processed hair in the room obsolete.

Pulling two young models barely dressed in sparkling frocks behind him, a guy tapped Joe on the shoulder to get his attention. "Hey, Joey! I brought you some new samples. You want to open them now or later?"

Smiling, Joe leaned forward and pointed to the brunette on the left. "I'll take her now..." then indicated the one on the right, "...and her later." He finished with a fake growl and laughed.

Clark had seen enough. He didn't belong here, with the glamorous crowd exchanging insincere greetings and vapid comments. He started to make his way to the door. As he passed a couple, he couldn't help hearing the man berate his companion, who was wearing a long red dress, "Megan, just because we work together doesn't mean we can't, you know. Why do you have to act so...?"

Looking at the blonde woman's uncomfortable expression, Clark was tempted to intervene until he reminded himself she had chosen to be here. It wasn't like stopping punks harassing a young woman on the streets. He shrugged and found one of his roommates lounging against a wall, surrounded by admirers.

"Devon, I'll see you."

"Where're you going, Clark?"

"I think I was wrong about Joe. I'm out." Devon gave a little frown and waved goodbye before returning to his conversation.

Clark made it out the door without any more encounters, only to see the elevator doors slide shut. Sighing, he decided to take the stairs. Despondent, he walked by someone sitting at the top of the stairs without really registering who it was until he heard, "Clark?" He whirled around so fast he overbalanced and tumbled backwards down the stairs until he reached the landing, where he immediately jumped to his feet, groaning in embarrassment.

Looking up at the man who had risen in concern, Clark winced and stammered, "Oh...hi. I didn't recognize you...without your big drooling dog."

"Are you okay?" At Clark's muttered, "Yeah," Joe scanned him from head to toe. "I barely recognized you."

Clark brushed himself off, "I live with models. I was their science project tonight."

"So, you're a model?" Joe almost sounded disappointed to Clark.

Clark flicked his hair and slid his hand down his hip mockingly, "Oh yeah, *supermodel*."

Joe acknowledged his point, "I meant to say, I hope you're not a model." He gave a gentle laugh. "You're not like most of the people I see at these parties. What is it you do?"

Drawn by Joe's smile despite his misgivings, Clark moved up one stair. "I restore paintings at the Met."

That seemed to spark Joe's interest. "Really?"

"Yeah." Clark looked away from the compelling blue eyes. "That's why I'm leaving."

Joe sat back down on the step and sighed, "I wish I could leave." He finished pulling off the tie he had loosened earlier and placed it on top of the jacket hanging on the banister.

Advancing a step higher, Clark asked, "Why? You looked like you were having a great time."

Joe's mouth quirked as he explained, "No...my job basically consists of kissing ass, and smiling while I do it. But, it's not really me."

"So a split personality emerges. You're really two different people," Clark grinned. He could identify with someone having to hide a part of themselves from the rest of the world.

Joe thought for a moment, "You could look at it that way." He patted the stair beside him. "We'd both like to talk to you."

Another step closer. "Well, I wouldn't want to take you two away from your party."

Grabbing Clark's hand, Joe drew him up the final few steps. "Hey, as far as we're concerned, you *are* the party."

 

...

 

"But why did she leave you? You're practically perfect. I...mean it sounds like you two were a great couple."

Joe's reply was rueful, "Do you know what my problem is? I think everyone is basically good and then I fall for them right away and then I get disappointed."

"I know exactly what you mean." Clark was afraid his head would fall off if he nodded any harder in agreement. The champagne Joe had appropriated for them had left him with a little more buzz than he usually got from alcohol.

Joe continued, "Not that I was ever the best boyfriend. My work kept me away for long hours and she thought it was dangerous."

"She thought the fashion business was dangerous?" Clark was puzzled. Were there designer ninjas?

Joe offered a weak explanation. "Dangerous...to my health. You know...stress."

Clark drew closer, "Well, I'd hate to see anything happen to you and I've only just met you." He really wanted to see if Joe's skin was really as soft and smooth as it looked. His fingers itched with the desire to slide over the curve of his sleek head. Joe seemed to feel a similar attraction as his face drew nearer.

Joe and Clark sprang apart when one of the guests stuck his head out of the door, "There you are. Come back to the party, man. There's somebody here to see you."

Joe jumped up and walked to the door. "Was the Chairman able to make it?"

"Chairman? No, some VIP in from Antwerp."

Turning to Clark who had just gotten up, Joe said, "Remember that ass I hate kissing? This is Belgian ass, the worst." He grabbed his jacket and slipped it back on, pocketing the tie.

Clark laughed, "I wouldn't know, but I'll take your word on that." He continued, "Hey, maybe we could do this on purpose the next time."

"A date? Yeah." Joe's smile faded. "Actually, my schedule is pretty crazy the next few weeks..."

Clark started to back down the stairs, agreeing with Joe, "Oh, me too. I have this big project at the museum and Mr. Rankin..." He turned to leave. "Good night, Joe."

"Clark?" Clark swung around, hopeful. Joe pointed to his hand. "The glass."

"Oh." Clark looked down and then handed Joe the champagne flute before slowly continuing down the stairs. As he reached the building's foyer, he paused at a mirror. Frowning at his makeup, he deliberately wiped the lip-gloss off with the back of his hand.

"Clark!"

Whirling, Clark saw Joe burst out of the stairwell and head towards him, breathing heavily. Bent over, chest heaving, Joe managed to gasp out, "I want to go out with you." He used an inhaler and smiled an appeal at Clark.

Once again, Clark fell for that smile. "Asthma?"

Joe shrugged, "Only when I'm under stress. It used to be a lot worse when I was a kid." He rubbed the back of his neck and resumed his plea, "Look, I usually hide in my work, I mean behind my work. So I don't hurt anyone...so I don't get hurt."

Clark couldn't look away. "I think we're both alike." He stepped closer to those blue eyes asking for another chance.

Joe mocked himself, "You mean inarticulate?"

"Yeah, that was the word I was looking for." Clark's words were almost too soft to hear. The space between them disappeared and the kiss felt inevitable, as if it was destined to happen. Cradling Clark's jaw, Joe's thumb traced the arch of his cheekbone. Clark drew Joe's upper lip between his own, his tongue exploring the texture of the scar that had fascinated him. They both withdrew reluctantly and opened their eyes, hazy in wonder.

Joe recovered his voice first and asked, "What are you doing Thursday night?"

Clark suddenly found himself on the ground looking up into amused blue eyes.

"I thought I told you to get those knees looked at?"

 

***

 

Chapter 7

 

***

 

Eyes still bandaged, Candi was happy, listening while Clark filled her in on the party and his time with Joe. "He likes me even without the tight clothes and the makeup and everything else."

The door of the apartment opened and the rest of the models came in complaining, "I can't believe the elevator was broken and we had to walk down all those flights of stairs." Lana saw Clark on the sofa with Candi and exclaimed, "There you are! Clark, you two looked so cute, sitting together on the stairs."

Clark felt like a giddy teenager as he confided, "Guess what? He totally kissed me!" He didn't know how he was going to be able to wait until Saturday. His friends gathered around congratulating him until Devon looked out the window and said, "Who's that?"

All the guests had left Joe's apartment with one exception. Clark recognized the blonde in the red dress, who he'd seen earlier at the party, just before Joe lowered the blinds.

Adrian crossed his arms and frowned. "It's another woman."

"Maybe they're just good friends," suggested Lana.

Adrian shook his head. "Then why is he closing the blinds? He never closes the blinds."

Candi piped up from the back, "Maybe she's his sister."

"We are not in the outback, Candi," Devon muttered. They all watched the two shadows behind the blinds move close together. Devon rubbed Clark's shoulder sympathetically. "We're so sorry. Our creep radar didn't go off with him at all."

Clark struggled to keep the tears out of his voice. "It's okay. I haven't been able to believe my eyes or my heart, why should my knees be any different?" He turned his back on the window and headed to his room.

"Listen, why don't you forget him and come out with us," Lana offered.

Clark shook his head. "No, you guys go ahead."

"You sure?"

"I'll be fine." He closed the door to his room and curled up on his lonely bed.

Devon had been watching the shadows in the apartment below when he caught his breath in surprise. The larger shadow had just used what looked like a baseball bat to strike the smaller shadow's head, and then delivered several blows towards the floor. "Hey guys, come over here! You've got to see this!!"

Lana and Adrian came to the window to see what Devon was yelling about. Candi jumped up from the sofa, but managed to face in the wrong direction as she tried to see through her bandages.

Lana asked, "What's happening, were they having sex?"

"No, I think he killed her!" Devon ran to the next set of windows and pointed to the arm he could see resting on the floor. "See, look there!"

Adrian came up behind Devon, "What do you mean?"

Devon moved to the farthest window, dragging Adrian with him. He pointed to Joe, standing in the middle of the room with a grim face, using an inhaler. "Killed her, as in dead!"

Lana was pounding on Clark's door. "Clark, come out, we need your help!"

Clark threw the door open, pulling his jeans back on. "What's wrong?"

"Devon thinks there's been a murder!"

"What?" Clark immediately tried to look through the walls to the next building, but failed to make out any details. His x-ray vision didn't work very well on some of the older buildings in the area. Research revealed that lead crystal windows were the fashion in the more affluent households in the past and that fact, combined with many layers of lead-based paint on walls and floors, meant that sometimes he had to rely on normal vision like the rest of the world.

Devon ran over to Clark and tugged him to the window. "I saw him use a bat and...she was on the floor..."

Clark peered into the windows across, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. "Where's the body? Should I go over there?" He was buttoning his shirt and trying to locate his boots. He'd have to move at normal speed with everyone watching, so he didn't want to waste too much time trying to get more details.

Devon grabbed the phone and started dialing. Lana asked, "What are you doing? Calling Joe?"

Devon snorted, "Yeah, I want to make sure he didn't hurt himself, while he was killing the blonde."

Candi was still wandering around clueless. "That's so sweet."

Adrian followed Clark to the door, telling him to hurry as Devon finally reached the 911 operator. "Hi, I'd like to report a murder. Yes, I'll hold."

 

...

 

By the time Clark made it over to Joe's apartment at human speed, it was empty. The police arrived shortly afterwards. Several of the officers came back to the apartment with him to take a statement from the roommates. Devon led one of the police officers to where he'd been standing when he saw the body.

"So you turn around and, poof, the body just disappears." The officer looked around the tidy room with evident skepticism.

Clark defended Devon, "I believe he said bam, as in, I turned around and bam, the body was gone."

The officer nodded, "Sure it is."

Candi felt her way to a chair and sat. "Hello officer, what's happening?" The officer frowned at the bandages on her eyes.

Pulling a notepad out, he began to jot down information, "So, what exactly did this Alexander guy do?"

Candi immediately volunteered, "Well, there were the Catholic schoolgirls..."

"What did he do with the schoolgirls?"

Clark answered, "He was buying candy bars, but that's not what..."

"Were they witnesses or accomplices?"

"I don't know, but Mr. Perfect sure did spend a lot of money." Candi frowned at the memory.

"Who's Mr. Perfect?"

Lana handled that one. "We call him Mr. Perfect because of the old lady, the big dog, and the love child."

"The love child?"

Clark tried again, "Forget about the love child. I will tell you exactly..."

"We saw him lifting." Candi was determined to add to the confusion.

"The body didn't disappear, you saw him lift it?"

Adrian shook his head. "No, we saw him lift himself, up and down, up and down."

Candi agreed, "He gets very sweaty."

"So, you *didn't* see him lift the body."

Clark was getting frustrated, "Like I told you before..."

"We were in middle of wardrobe change," Adrian tried to explain the lack of witnesses.

"Was there anybody else here in the room?"

"I was in the room, yes." The officer's eyebrows rose at Candi's statement.

"Okay, I think I've heard as much as I need."

"You know, I don't think you're taking this very seriously," Devon protested.

The officer's lip curled as he answered flippantly, "To be honest, I don't believe any of this. A bunch of bored models, sitting around, sniffing a little nail polish and all of a sudden they think they see something. Now, don't get all hysterical, I'm still going to investigate, it's my job. Nobody pays me a thousand dollars a day to sit around on my duff and look pretty."

Lana couldn't resist. "Big surprise, Sparky."

Clark lost his temper. "There has been a serious crime committed and all you're doing is standing around and insulting my friends. I want your badge number."

The officer pointed to the badge clipped to his pocket. "Here it is, that is, if you can count this high." He called to the rest of the officers. "Let's go. Evening, everyone."

Candi waved, in the wrong direction. "Bye."

 

...

 

When he heard the apartment door open, Clark sat up on the sofa, rubbing his eyes. "You guys are just getting home at seven in the morning?"

Lana pouted, "The team had to catch a flight to Atlanta."

"I guess Joe didn't do it," announced Adrian.

Clark stared at him. "Why do you say that? Did you read it in the paper?"

Adrian just pointed out the window. "No, there he is standing right there in his apartment."

Clark looked over and saw Joe handing a check to a cleaning person. That couldn't be right.

...

 

"No, I will not buzz off until you tell me why Joe Alexander is still in his apartment. Is he out on bail? Do murderers usually get bail?" Clark was following the obnoxious officer from the night before.

Preparing to get into his squad car, the officer turned to Clark, "No, sometimes we just release them for fun. Look, no body, no crime."

"How do you explain what Devon saw?"

"The woman, Megan O'Brien, tripped over a rug, your friend turned his back, and Mr. Alexander picked her up." The officer shrugged before he opened the car door.

"So, he's not a killer."

The officer agreed, "He actually seems like a good guy."

"So, this Megan woman, she's okay?"

Sitting down and closing the car door, the officer answered Clark's question through the open window. "I guess."

"What do you mean, you guess? It's a yes or no question."

Shaking his head, the officer gestured to his partner to start the car. "Look, we haven't talked to her yet. She's out of town on business. We'll track her down."

"Well, when you do find out, will you call me? It's really important."

"Sure, Mr. Kent. I'll program your number into the precinct's speed dial right now." Clark could hear the officers' laughter as the squad car pulled away from the curb.

Clark limited himself to a quiet "Jackass." It looked like there would definitely be more wedgies for bad people in the near future.

 

***

 

Chapter 8

 

***

 

At the museum, Clark was filling Chloe in on Joe, the dog, and the disappearing body when he saw his roommates come down the stairs. They huddled together as they approached Clark's worktable, afraid of the dark and dusty corners of the room.

Devon held up his hand. "Not one step further, this place is filthy."

"Hey guys, this is my friend Chloe. Chloe, this is Devon, Adrian, Candi and..."

"Lana! I couldn't believe it when Clark told me you were roommates. It's just like the good old days in Smallville!" Chloe gushed.

Fending off Chloe's attempt to hug her, Lana mocked, "Sure Chloe, except I stopped wearing pink everyday and actually have a life where I don't have to dodge meteor mutants on a daily basis. It's good to see you anyway. Write any good alien autopsy headlines lately?"

Clark, who had just taken a drink of his coffee, started to choke.

Patting Clark on the back, Devon began, "Clark, I was talking to my shrink this morning and she says you're projecting. That means what you insist that I saw through the window is actually your own desire to kill all your ex-boyfriends."

"Why are you talking to your therapist about me?"

"She says I spend way too much time talking about myself," Devon admitted. "Anyway, we came all the way down here because we decided you should keep your date with Joe."

Candi agreed, "Come on, he's way too cute to be a killer."

"You said yourself the cops don't have anything on him so..." Adrian argued.

Standing up and running his hand through his hair, Clark refused the suggestion. "Look you guys, I appreciate the effort really I do, but guess what, I am not going out with Mr. Psycho Killer Guy, so go home."

Nudging Clark, Chloe hissed, "Don't make them leave." She smiled at Candi and decided to try to help the cause. "Clark, seriously, you don't know what really happened."

Clark was getting louder with each objection. "That is not true. I know I saw Megan in Joe's apartment and I'll never forget how upset Devon was when he saw *something* through the window."

Lana frowned at Devon before insisting, "And *you* didn't see what we saw when you two were sitting on the stairs."

"What was that?"

"That you're crazy sick in love," declared Devon.

Clark folded his arms and shook his head. "That is not true. I'm one hundred percent over him."

Adrian laughed. "Sure you are. That is why you spent whole morning staring at drawing of his face."

"So, big deal, he has a good face." Clark began pacing as his agitation grew. "And yeah, maybe there's some mysterious but valid explanation for what happened, but why should I start going out with a guy when he's already shaping up to be an even bigger liar than all the rest of them?"

Chloe shrugged, "So what, everyone lies, sometime. Some just do it more than others." Clark flinched.

Devon nodded in agreement, "Exactly. And if you don't like what the police are doing, start your own investigation."

"That way you can find out for yourself whether he's a nice bloke," Candi winked at Clark, "Or if he's a slasher."

Lana shuddered, "Or if he's lying about being married. Jason fooled me on that one, twice."

"Look, I don't care about him!" Clark stomped his foot and then immediately regretted it when one of the floor tiles cracked.

Polly butted in, "Clark, if you don't sort this out you'll never have a good relationship for the rest of your life. You'll end up a pathetic lonely old man who makes his coworkers watch videos of his cat's lame-ass birthday parties."

Rolling her eyes, Chloe mimed shooting Clark.

Agnes threw the exacto knife she had been using at Polly, who ducked just in time. "You say what you want about me, you tramp, but don't you go badmouthing Tinka."

Retrieving the knife from the wall behind Polly, Clark waved it around while shouting, "Enough! Everyone shut up and listen to me! All of you, young and old, gay and straight!"

With her head down and still working, Mabel crooned to herself, "I'm going to have red beans for dinner tonight."

Clark whirled to glare at her. "And especially the deaf!" Dropping the knife on the table, out of Agnes' reach, he continued in a voice that became progressively softer. "I don't care about him! I don't care about the babysitting or his blue eyes or the fact that he can do a thousand pull-ups on that bar. And I don't care about his sexy grin or that he can make me laugh when his dog is trying to hump my leg." His eyes began to shine with unshed tears. "And I really don't care that I fall asleep every night dreaming about him because I am not crazy. That girl is missing and I know he killed her."

A small voice said, "I'm going to have red beans for dinner."

"Mabel!"

Mabel looked up at the group and protested, "What! I only caught about every fifth word but that guy is head over heels."

"I am not!"

The laughter that rolled through the room at Clark's vehement protest was the last straw.

"Look fine, I'll investigate. I will stalk his ass just to prove that there is something seriously off with this guy and all of you are too stupid to see it!"

 

***

 

Chapter 9

 

***

 

"Can I help you?" The super for Joe's building watched Lana and Clark approach. Lana was dressed seductively in a mini halter dress, while Clark played her pimp.

"We were in apartment 402 and we want to be discreet. You understand," purred Lana.

Clark contributed, "We left some clothes." He really thought Devon or Adrian would have been better at this, but they'd insisted it needed someone with his 'attributes'. He did not appreciate the comment about 'big and dumb' that Adrian made under his breath. Just because he'd wanted to do this without their help, didn't mean he was stupid. Now he'd have to avoid using his abilities.

"What he means to say is we left some French-cut crotchless panties," clarified Lana, leaning forward to display her charms.

"And the rest of the props from our...act," stammered Clark.

"So can you help us?" Lana smiled at the super who looked up and down both of them before he agreed.

"Sure, tell you what, I'll trade you his key for *that* dress."

Clark didn't want to imagine what that scary man was going to do with *that* dress. He was holding it up against himself...there was no way it was in his size, and spandex could only go so far. He made a mental note to avoid using his x-ray vision anywhere around here.

...

 

"Don't blame me, I didn't break the elevator." Clark was tired of the models' complaints as they trudged up four flights of stairs. In his opinion, leaving the high heels at home would have helped Lana and Candi. Besides, Lana's shoes definitely clashed with the overalls she exchanged for *that* dress. That was enough; he really needed to forget about that dress, right now.

After Clark let everyone into the apartment, Candi stood in the middle of the room and asked, "What exactly are we looking for?"

Clark was glad that Candi had shed her eye bandages so at there was at least a chance she might find something. He reminded everyone, "Evidence...anything that may indicate he's a cold-blooded killer."

Lana held up a framed photo. "Oh look, it's a picture of him and the little baby. How cute!"

Shaking his head in disbelief at the coos coming from his fellow investigators, Clark snatched the picture and waved it, "Hello, hi, guy right here who has a date with a potential murderer in four days. Can we get back to work please? Joe might be home any minute."

Patting Clark's arm, Candi reassured him, "Relax, we called his office; he's going to be in a meeting all day. Devon is waiting in our apartment for a call, so he's going to keep a lookout."

Clark looked across and saw Devon waving from their apartment; it looked like he was already on the phone. He hoped he wouldn't get distracted and forget to warn them if Joe came home. Ignoring Devon for the moment, Clark moved around the apartment, cataloguing Joe's possessions mentally. It didn't take long. Other than the photo they'd found, there didn't seem to be any personal items on display. It was all sterile pieces of art and large empty spaces. It was oddly familiar to Clark. Suddenly, he realized it was because his own room was the same, devoid of anything beyond the necessities because he never knew when he would be moving again. The less he owned, the easier it was to leave.

Lana came out of Joe's room waving something. "Look at this!"

Excited, Clark hurried over to see what she had found. "What is it?"

"Dirty laundry. He has a whole pile of it just sitting on a chair in his bedroom," explained Lana.

"So?" Clark wasn't sure how that was evidence the Joe could commit a heinous crime.

"I hate that," pouted Lana. Clark was sorry he hadn't let Lana search the refrigerator. Of course, she'd probably decide leftover Chinese was evidence too.

Candi yanked the shirt away from Lana and pointed to a spot on the front. "Look it has a blood stain on it."

Lana huffed in annoyance, "That's why I brought it out. He didn't pre-soak, that baby's set for life." She grabbed her camera and started taking pictures as Candi held the shirt up. "This is going into evidence." Candi struck several poses while Lana played fashion photographer. "Oh yeah, good, now make love to the shirt. Now hate it...and it hates you."

After watching Candi maul the shirt and growl into the camera, Clark finally grabbed it. "Let me see that. There's a yellow stain right next to it, probably...." He sniffed the spots. "...mustard."

"That's amazing, he's a bleeding Sherlock Holmes," Candi gasped.

Adrian had continued to search while everyone else was occupied with the shirt that was attacked by a hotdog. He called out from the kitchen, "If you find a twenty-dollar bill on the floor of someone's apartment, is it the same as finding it on the street?"

Clark couldn't believe the question. "No!" He headed for Adrian.

"Oh, then I didn't find anything," came the subdued reply.

When Clark stepped into the room, he noticed what Adrian was holding. "Oh, yes you have. Where did you find it? It's a box of knives."

"Not just knives, daggers." Adrian gave a little shiver and put the box down gingerly. Lana took another picture.

A loud thud against the window outside made them all jump. When they turned around, they saw a greenish mass sliding down the glass. Candi squealed when she recognized what it was. "It's a kiwifruit! They're from New Zealand, you know."

"A kiwi?" Clark didn't understand why fruit was colliding with fourth story windows until he looked out and saw Devon hanging out an open window, ready to throw a second one. When he had gotten everyone's attention, Devon started gesturing to the phone in his hand and then down to the street.

"Charades? I love charades. We used to play it all the time back home," Candi enthused. She watched Devon continue to point to the phone and raise it to his ear. "Sounds like...no...no props in charades. No props and no clothes...Uncle Pete's rules."

Lana groaned, "Eeew, Candi, no more stories from the dark farm, pretty please."

Clark had finally picked up the phone to talk to Devon, "What? Joe's in the hallway?" He hung up and shoved the group towards the bathroom, "Quick, everybody hide." Realizing they couldn't all fit in there, Clark headed for the desk and crawled into the kneehole, pressing himself back as far as he could. He hoped Joe wasn't going to sit down and work there, although the view would probably be great.

The door opened and Clark heard Joe walk to the desk and pick up the phone. "Vince, it's me. The Burkos meeting went well. I had to eat more of those damn pierogies, but it was worth it. I should get a meeting with the Chairman soon." He hung up without saying goodbye.

Clark saw Joe's shoes head for the bathroom and he held his breath. He could hear the three models whispering something about the scene in 'Psycho', and then nothing except water as Joe washed his hands. A minute later, the shoes headed for the door and Clark heard it close behind Joe in relief. Now he just needed to unfold himself and see if his friends had passed out from holding their breath in the shower.

He hoped Chloe had better luck researching Joe online.

 

...

 

"So it sounds like he's pretty damn normal," ventured Chloe. She was visiting Clark in the workroom at the museum and they had the place to themselves for a change.

Clark frowned and agreed, "Nothing really shouts out psycho killer but I still feel like I'm missing something." He continued the transfer of his sketch of Joe's face to the painting, despite his misgivings.

"Well, according to everything I could find, he's as ordinary as they come. Graduated with a business degree and got into the fashion business as a buyer in Chicago. He's been making a name for himself since he came to New York about nine months ago. Never been arrested, nothing in the gossip columns, never been married or even engaged. He's Mr. Clean."

Clark sputtered, "Chloe!"

"Sorry, I really wasn't referring to his um...lack of hair." Chloe confessed sheepishly. "Although it is odd to see a guy in his position shaving his head."

"He doesn't shave it. I was...close enough to tell."

"So he's had chemotherapy or something? What's the deal?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask." When Chloe frowned at him, he protested, "Hey, even I'm not so inept as to walk up to someone I just met and ask why they're bald! Anyway, I think he looks great that way, sleek and elegant. Like...a...pharaoh."

"You've got it bad," teased Chloe. "Getting back to Mr. 'Maybe I'm Not a PsychoKiller After All', you've had more encounters with the police than he has."

Clark had to agree with Chloe on that point, even though she was just referring to his high school days in Smallville. She certainly didn't know anything about his recent extracurricular activities. No one did and he wanted to keep it that way. He'd left the old habit of lying badly back in Smallville with his parents. That meant sticking to dark clothes, dark places, fast moves, and never hanging around for thanks, which was safer for everyone concerned. If he were ever caught by someone he cared about, he'd rather take his chances and tell the truth. He could lose himself in another big city, if necessary. Anywhere was better than Smallville, the town that turned bizarre after he arrived.

New York had its own versions of weird; he just didn't think it was ready for the ultimate stranger from a strange land. He certainly hadn't handled it very well when his parents finally told him the big secret after graduating from high school. The only good thing about them waiting so long was he didn't grow up thinking he couldn't have sex because he wasn't human. He'd established everything was working normally, thank god, before then. He did have to admit that every time a new ability showed up, he'd checked carefully to make sure he hadn't sprouted tentacles too. First sign of a tentacle, he was off to that monastery.

Lost in his thoughts, Clark flinched when he heard a crash and thump from the hallway. As he started to get up from his stool, a slim figure stumbled into the room and then straightened, brushing dust from his overcoat. Blue eyes above red roses captured Clark's heart despite his objections.

Moving a little further into the room, Joe apologized. "Sorry, I hope I didn't scare you."

"Joe, how'd you get in here?" Clark made sure he was between Chloe and Joe, just in case.

"Oh, I mentioned your name. The guard let me in."

Chloe peeked around Clark, "So you're Joe, *the* Joe."

Joe grinned, "Nice to know I've been talked about."

Remembering his manners, Clark finished the introductions. "This is my friend Chloe. She just finished her karate lesson and stopped by."

Chloe struck a dramatic martial arts style pose until Joe responded with, "Hey, I hope you enjoy your lessons. I've got my black belt." He continued, "I'm sorry for barging in, but I couldn't wait until Saturday to see you." He moved close enough to the table to see what Clark was working on. "Is this Titian?"

Clark was delighted. "You know Titian?"

Joe shook his head ruefully, "Literally the only thing I remember from Art History." Shifting his attention to Clark, he asked, "Listen, would you like to go grab a drink somewhere?

Telling his knees to behave, Clark stammered, "I can't. I'm not comfortable with you...I mean leaving with you...I mean leaving without finishing this piece."

Joe seemed disappointed but he accepted the excuse. "I understand. I'll let you get back to work." He turned to Chloe to apologize again, "Sorry I didn't mean to scare you. It's just me, not some *psycho killer*." Before he left, he handed the roses to Clark with a quick kiss on the cheek. "For you."

Clark watched him leave without a word before lifting the roses and inhaling the heady scent.

"I'm just curious. Did the police ever contact that woman or find her body?" Chloe's snide remark brought Clark back to earth.

Clark gave an enormous sigh. "Thanks a lot. You couldn't just let me enjoy this for a second, could you?"

Chloe snickered. "Maybe you better keep investigating."

 

***

 

Chapter 10

 

***

 

"I'm exhausted. Tailing someone is hard work," Devon complained as he dropped onto the sofa. "He worked at his office all morning, met some blond woman, probably an ad executive, for a business lunch and then he supervised a shoot on the steps of the New York Public Library. Not very original. Wouldn't you think the public's getting tired of seeing models hanging off stone lions by now?"

"God, my feet are killing me." Lana kicked off her shoes before joining Devon. "You're just jealous. You'd kiss one of those lions if you were booked for one of those shoots."

Clark had just arrived home from work and was listening to the results of the day's investigations. Candi and Adrian wandered in from the kitchen and chimed in, "At the end of the day he ended up in the garment district and signed off on a huge shipment of dresses."

"And we got one for evidence!" Candi displayed a silver dress with a crystal-beaded bodice.

"Got one? As in, it fell off the back of the truck?" asked Clark suspiciously.

"No, it was as in, Candi tripped and fell into it," grumbled Adrian. "We had to run and hide because she made so much noise and then we couldn't put the dress back."

Devon clapped his hands and jumped up from the sofa. "After all that drama, we need to go and have some fun. Let's change and get out of here!"

 

...

 

Is that her?"

The passenger in the dark sedan nodded. "Yeah, I followed her and her friends here after she took the dress. They were following Alexander all day and not being very subtle about it.

"Who's the big guy? He wasn't with them before."

"Wait, I recognize him. He was with Alexander at the party. They got pretty cozy."

"Then I suggest you check him out immediately. We don't need another Megan O'Brien on our hands." After issuing his orders, the heavyset man with a beard waited until the other exited the car, and then drove off.

 

...

 

Clark answered his cell phone in the bar. "Hey, Chloe, where are you? I tried to call you..."

"Guess what, I found the body! Joe kept it in a duffle bag in his rented storage space. That was the only place we didn't think to search."

Clark jumped up and was halfway out the door, after telling his friends to stay put. "A duffle bag? Chloe, where are you now?"

"I'm following him. We're in Central Park. It's the perfect place to bury a body. I mean, who comes here after dark besides murderers?"

"Chloe, I'm just a few minutes away. Don't do anything until I get there. Keep talking so I can find you." Clark was glad he had already changed into his night walking clothes. It made it easier for him to stay out of sight as he hurried to reach Chloe.

"All right, I'm out of the cab and I'm following him into the woods."

"Just don't let him see you, Chloe. I'm almost there."

Running at high speed in dark woods was a lot more difficult than on city streets where there was at least some light to help avoid obstacles. A few trees lost low-hanging branches as Clark raced to Chloe's position.

"This is it. He put it down." Clark could see Chloe a few hundred yards away, crouched behind some bushes. "Oh my God, he just pulled out a shovel, he's going to bury it right here." Chloe was breathless from running, so she couldn't yell very loud when Clark came up behind her. "Clark, you scared me!"

"Where is he?"

She pointed out into the darkness. "Right there."

Clark scanned the area using his x-ray vision and found Joe's skeleton and a jumbled pile of shapes on the ground. "Wait, maybe it's not a shovel."

Chloe looked again. "It's a baseball bat..."

Suddenly a bright bank of lights came on, illuminating the field. A group of yelling kids came running up to Joe and he started handing out equipment.

Clark sank to the ground in relief. "...for a Little League team. He coaches a Little League team. That is so sweet. Isn't that sweet?" Clark's smile rivaled the lights for brightness.

Chloe sighed. "Please tell me you're going to stop investigating him now."

Clark nodded his head without looking away from the man surrounded by happy children. "Only long enough to go out with him."

 

...

 

Clark and Chloe stayed to watch the game, enjoying the sound of children at play. He escorted Chloe home and stayed to chat, ending up leaving her apartment quite late. A few blocks away from home, Clark heard the sounds of a struggle. When he looked down the nearest alley, he saw three men surrounding another who had backed up to the wall. Advancing slowly, Clark called out in his deepest voice, "Is everything all right here?"

The three hoods turned their attention to him and the tallest sneered, "It's none of your business. Get out of here if you know what's good for you." They took a few steps towards him, fists raised. Clark didn't see any guns or knives, so this would be an easy rescue for him.

A cough from the slim figure against the wall made Clark scan him automatically for injuries. He gasped when he realized it was Joe and was thankful when he couldn't detect any broken bones or open wounds. The streetlight was behind Clark, so he was fairly sure all Joe could see was his silhouette. Still, afraid Joe might recognize him if he got any closer, he turned on his speed and grabbed the three thugs. He deposited them several blocks away in a convenient dumpster.

Returning to the original alley, Clark saw Joe stumbling out to the sidewalk and decided to stay out of sight. Joe looked around, obviously puzzled by the disappearance of his attackers, and then headed for his apartment. Clark winced when he saw the bruises on his face and the scrape across the back of his head. He followed in the shadows until Joe was safely inside his building, sorry he hadn't arrived sooner.

 

***

 

Chapter 11

 

***

 

Finally noticing a persistent knocking amidst the usual Saturday morning bedlam, Lana answered the door. The older man wearing a heavy beard looked puzzled at the book she was balancing on her head. She glanced up and shrugged, "I have a runway job booked for today and I'm practicing." Surveying him in turn, she continued, "Okay, kind sir, I don't mean to be discriminatory but there is an age limit to get on the waiting list."

"No, pardon me. My name is Halloran. I'm here to see Mr. Kent about some work." He held up a large portfolio. "We spoke on the phone."

Closing the door behind the heavyset man, Lana showed him into the living room, and then returned to her book balancing. Clark emerged from his room and greeted his client.

"Mr. Halloran. I'm pleased to meet you." As Halloran removed a large canvas from the portfolio, Clark took it and began to examine it. It was a sepia-toned marketplace scene.

"It's very unusual. Russian turn of the century?"

Halloran agreed with Clark's assessment. "I'm impressed, you know your stuff."

Clark carried the painting to the window so he could look at it under natural light. He frowned when he found evidence of damage. "What are these holes?"

Halloran looked where Clark was pointing at two small round holes in the lower right hand corner of the painting. "I think...mice."

"Very neat mice," replied Clark with some skepticism. Both he and Halloran jumped at what sounded like a shot. Lana straightened up holding the book she had dropped and apologized, "Sorry, still practicing."

Seemingly chagrined at his overreaction, Halloran looked out the window to the next building. His eyebrows rose when he spotted Joe displaying his impressive abs during a set of sit-ups. "Nice view."

Blushing when he saw Joe, Clark walked away from the window, hoping the client would follow. "I wouldn't know. We usually keep the blinds closed."

 

...

 

Lana had just come off stage in her last outfit when she spotted Joe heading for the door. Surprised to see him, she was about to call out to him when he was halted by a hand on his sleeve. Despite the heavy beat of the music backstage at the fashion show, Lana found herself able to hear his conversation with the man who had stopped him.

"Joe, how's it going?" Both men had to shout over the music and the noise of the dressing area.

"Uh, Vern!" Joe looked frustrated at the delay and looked at his watch.

Vern was very insistent, "Listen, whatever happened to Megan?"

"Who?" Joe tried to back away and head for the door again.

Grabbing Joe's arm, Vern leaned in to yell, "Megan O'Brien, the blonde, nobody's seen her since your party. What the hell happened to her?"

Pulling free, Joe shook his head. "I don't know..." He pulled out his inhaler and took a puff. "I think she went on vacation."

"Vacation during fashion week? That's crazy!"

Joe waved in dismissal. "It was good to see you Vern." He was out the door, leaving Lana trying to make sense of what she had just heard.

 

...

 

Clark wondered if he'd been mistaken when he'd scanned Joe last night. There were no visible cuts or bruises when he met Joe at the restaurant, which should have made Clark happy instead of curious. He even speculated whether it hadn't been Joe at all, until Joe mentioned the incident. "Oddest thing, I'd heard about some mystery man around town who helps people and then disappears. I think I met him last night."

Clark managed to keep his voice steady, "Really, what happened?"

"I was walking to my apartment when three hoods jumped me. Before I knew it, another guy, a really big guy, stepped in and then everyone was gone. It was like they had never been there."

"Did you see what he looked like?"

"No, it was dark in the alley. I never saw his face, but he had a great body, big, cut, not fat. Dark clothes, dark hair, really deep voice. Now that I think about it, he was built a lot like you."

Clark was very glad he'd worn the pale green shirt that the models insisted would make his green eyes 'intense'. A dark shirt would definitely have been a mistake. "Gee, I think I'm flattered."

Joe chuckled and pointed to the menu between them. "Anything look good for dessert?"

"Mmmm, everything," murmured Clark. He couldn't help wondering if he could get an extra-large serving of Joe Alexander to go. He had really enjoyed talking with Joe. It felt natural, like meeting an old friend, even though Joe hadn't shared much about himself. He was more interested in finding out about Clark's work and his likes and dislikes.

Joe handed the menu to the waiter and said, "We'll have everything."

"What? Are you kidding?" exclaimed Clark.

The blue eyes were amused at Clark's surprise. "No, I'm not in a rush. Are you?"

Thrilled at the gesture, Clark grinned at Joe. "No, this is awesome."

Joe leaned across the table and confided, "Do you realize that every time you took a bite of something good at dinner you made a little sound, like mmmm?"

"I did? Oh, God." Clark was sure the entire restaurant could see him blushing and he wanted to crawl under the table in embarrassment.

Joe hastened to reassure him. "I liked it. It was like a cat purring or...I just like it, that's all."

Clark's blush was leaving his cheeks and heat was heading south. He decided to change the subject, quickly. "So, how is the ass-kissing going?" Clark thought he could have chosen his words a little better, but Joe seemed to appreciate his effort.

"The fashion world is complicated. It's all about the next thing. Everybody is rushing around all crazy, looking for some...new idea, but they're too frantic to experience it. It's not what I want."

"What do you want?" Clark prompted.

Joe thought for a moment. "I want to know a good thing when I find it, like tonight. The way you look, make me feel...I just wish I could freeze this moment and hold on to it." Just as Joe reached for Clark's hand, his pager went off. Frowning, he glanced at it and pulled out his cell phone only to find its battery was dead. He pushed away from the table and stood, saying abruptly, "Let's get out of here."

Clark was confused at the change. "What about dessert?"

Joe said shortly, "Sorry, I've got to make a quick call." He threw down several large bills to cover the check, before realizing he had been less than polite. "I'm really sorry about this, Clark. Do me a favor, meet me outside? Get a cab for us?"

Clark agreed, reluctant for the evening to end. He headed for the door, while Joe made his way to the public phones.

 

...

 

Lana had finally found the restaurant, but she missed Clark as he walked outside. She did see Joe heading for the pay phone and followed him. Standing around the corner from him, she hoped she could overhear his phone conversation. She couldn't hear everything, but the few words she made out made her blood run cold.

"No, I'm out with him... fine...want a body, I'll give them a..."

Lana stepped back in shock and collided with a server carrying a full tray of dishes. They both went down with a crash and Lana caught sight of Joe leaving the restaurant as she tried to extricate herself from the mess. By the time she managed to limp to the door, there was no sign of either Clark or Joe.

 

***

 

Chapter 12

 

***

Clark still hadn't identified the strange sounds echoing around him. He kept his eyes closed anyway, trusting that Joe wouldn't lead him into anything dangerous. After all, even if his x-ray vision didn't work through his eyelids, there was no blindfold and he could open his eyes anytime.

"Okay, don't move." Joe let go of Clark's arm and moved away.

Straining to hear what Joe was doing, Clark asked, "What's going on here, Joe? Where are we, exactly?"

Clark heard a series of clicks before Joe said, "All right, you can open them up now."

"Joe, how did you...?" Clark gasped in amazement. He stood in front of an enormous tank, the only one lit in the entire room. Ghostly forms swam lazily in the underwater light, passing by in exquisite patterns only they understood. The sounds Clark had tried to identify were their eerie calls to each other in the underwater ballet.

Joe came back from the light switches to stand next to Clark. "I know some people."

"They're amazing." Clark was mesmerized. He had never had someone share something so uniquely beautiful with him.

"They're beluga whales. That's Ben and that's Betty. She's Ben's second wife." Clark could feel the warmth of Joe's body moving closer. "Whenever I get stressed out I come here and try to be more like them."

Pulling his eyes away from the incredible view, Clark looked at Joe, his face visible in the dim glow from the tank. The simple joy in Joe's face as he watched the whales astounded Clark. "Mr. Fishtank," he whispered.

Joe looked at Clark, puzzled. "What?"

"Mr. Fishtank, that what Cand...that's what I'm going to start calling you."

Chuckling at the silly nickname, Joe turned into Clark and gently slid his hand into his dark curls. Pulling his head down, he took Clark's lips in a soft kiss. They moved closer, the kiss becoming deeper and more heated in the liquid dark. The whales continued their dance as two silhouettes became one in the pale blue light of the underground ocean.

 

...

 

Falling through the door into Joe's apartment, the two men advanced into the room, slowed by their efforts to remove their shirts without letting go of each other. Joe pulled back long enough to ask breathlessly, "Wait, This might not seem like the most guy-like thing to say, but do you think we're moving too fast? I mean, you hardly know me."

Maneuvering Joe next to the sofa, Clark finally answered. "Oh, I feel like I know you all too well." Clark nibbled underneath Joe's jaw, causing a heartfelt groan.

Joe's hands wandered across Clark's chest as his head dropped back to allow Clark better access. "Damn, I've wanted to do this since Hamlet first drooled on you." Feeling Clark's hands on his hips, pulling them into a perfect alignment, he sighed, "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

Clark stopped his sensual exploration long enough to answer. "At first sight? Too easy." He shook his head slowly with a sweet smile. "I believe in taking a deeper look." Pushing Joe down to the sofa, he followed, continuing his in-depth investigation, tasting Joe's secrets.

 

...

 

Slamming the door of the apartment, Lana limped into the room, peeling off her clothes covered in several different entrees. "Is Clark back yet?"

"What happened? You look like you lost an argument with Emeril," Candi giggled.

"This is what happened when I tried to warn Clark about Joe, the on again-off again murderer," complained Lana. When Devon and Adrian joined them, she explained what she had overheard at the show and then later at the restaurant.

Devon, standing by the window, asked Lana whether she was sure about what she heard. "Because I'd really hate to break up their relationship by mistake; it seems to be going really well. They're definitely clicking sexually."

"How do you know that? They just went on their first date!" objected Candi.

Devon explained in a singsong voice, "He forgot to pull down the blinds." He pointed at the apartment below.

It was a miracle that no one fell while racing for the best view at the window.

 

...

 

Joe sat up on the sofa, trying to catch his breath. "It's official. I'm going to start a new religion called Clarkism. Basically it's me, worshipping you." His pale skin glowed where it wasn't marked by overeager hands and teeth.

Pulling himself up at the opposite end, Clark grinned lazily. "Well then, it's time for a little confession." He started crawling towards Joe like a tawny lion, muscles rippling, licking his lips. "You need to start telling me a little bit more about yourself."

Joe looked a little uncomfortable at the demand. "Like what?"

"Anything," Clark insisted.

Getting up, Joe slipped his boxers on and stepped back from the sofa. "I'm not really a secrets kind of guy." Despite his evident unease, it was obvious he appreciated the display on the black leather sofa.

Still on his knees and knees, Clark stopped his stalking. "Come on, everybody has secrets of some sort." Clark was hoping that he might be able to share a few secrets of his own if this worked out with Joe. He wanted to trust what his heart and his knees were telling him.

After thinking for a minute, Joe walked into the kitchen, calling back, "Well, there is one thing I've been hiding from you." He came back out carrying a familiar box. "I happen to be a master of daggers."

Clark's eyes widened. "A master of daggers?"

Joe removed a dagger from the box. "Oh yes." He stood there in his boxers with no self-consciousness, certain in his skill.

Clark thought he could hear screams not too far away, but all of his attention was on Joe and the knife he was holding. "You know I was just teasing, right?" He couldn't decide whether he was nervous or incredibly turned on. Maybe it was both.

With a grin, Joe flipped the knife in the air, caught it by the tip of the blade and then threw. This time, Clark was sure he heard screaming, but he was too busy getting ready to dodge if necessary. It wasn't. The knife ended up quivering close to the top of the wall, right above the bedroom doorway.

Clark laughed in relief. He'd avoided having to expose either his speed or invulnerability too soon. "Now I know your secret."

Joe responded with his own chuckle, "What?"

"You throw like a girl." Clark tugged Joe over the back of the sofa and on top of himself. As Joe resumed praying to his new deity, Clark took a closer look at the knife over his shoulder. He winced when he saw the large fly skewered by the point. Just then Joe did *something incredible* with his tongue and he decided he'd apologize later, a lot later, presuming he had the ability to speak or even think.

 

***

 

Chapter 13

 

***

Creeping into the apartment just after dawn, Clark didn't make it to his room before Devon walked out of the kitchen with four coffee mugs. When he noticed where he was heading, Clark looked over at the sofa to see the rest of his roommates yawning and stretching, obviously sleepy after a long night of... "Oh man, I forgot to close the blinds."

Adrian smirked, "Darling, after that performance, I want to be your friend."

"Yeah, hey, how do you do that thing with your back?" asked Candi, quite willing to take lessons.

Checking on the angle of Joe's sofa through the window, Clark decided they couldn't have seen *everything*. He was sure they hadn't seen him floating a few inches above the sofa cushions and thankfully, Joe had been asleep. It wasn't the best time to develop a new ability, but at least this one might turn into something useful, like flying. He still hadn't sprouted any tentacles either. He took a deep breath. "Okay, I *could* get really freaked out about this, but guess what? Joe's taking me to Shelter Island for the weekend and he says he has something important he wants to tell me."

Devon set the mugs down and clapped his hands. "You bagged him!" All the roommates offered their congratulations.

"I know it's too soon and I don't want to get too excited but we're leaving early so I have to get to work." Clark ducked into his room to change and pack.

Lana held her hand up to subdue the impromptu celebration. "Hold on. He's taking him away, maybe permanently away?" The room got very quiet as they thought that over.

Clark popped his head out of his room. "Adrian, can I borrow that Richard Tyler thing again?"

Adrian frowned, "I don't know, if I give it to you I may never see it again." Devon poked him in the side and Adrian rolled his eyes. "Fine, take it."

Clark walked out of his room and approached the group. "Am I missing something here?"

"Well, it's just that yesterday when I was at the show I overheard Joe talking about Megan and then when I tried to find you at the restaurant I heard a few things that he said on the phone..." Lana trailed off when she saw Clark's face. She hurried to the door when the doorbell rang, eager to avoid any further arguments.

Chloe came in and waved to everyone. "Hi Clark, I thought I'd walk to work with you."

"Chloe, I only live three blocks from the museum."

"But I'm sure you could use the company."

"Guys, stop being so worried. We've followed him, we searched his apartment and now that I know him...intimately..."

Adrian interrupted. "Darling, you left the blinds up. We *all* know him intimately." He gave two thumbs up on Clark's technique.

 

...

 

The headline on 'The New York Post' brought Clark to a halt beside the newsstand. Grabbing the paper, he handed the necessary change to the vendor and walked off, reading the article. He couldn't believe it. One minute he was walking on air because Mr. Rankin had told him the work he'd done on the Titian was 'superb' and let him go early for the weekend. The next minute he was wondering how he could have made such a terrible mistake last night. He needed to talk to Joe, right now.

Avoiding the use of his special hearing was second nature to Clark, but now he was 'listening' for Joe even before he passed through the revolving doors of his building. He located Joe and another man talking in the elevator that was descending to the first floor.

The other man's voice was oddly familiar. "I've been quite impressed with the way you do business. We appreciate very much how you handled the little difficulty with the woman."

Joe's response sounded eager. "That was no problem. I do have one question though. Antwerp. How does the money get back here?"

"Don't worry, I'm going to explain everything to you. I have plans to increase your role within the organization."

"Excellent. When are we meeting?"

"This time we'll just have a brief meeting on the runway at five o'clock."

"That's good. Which airport?"

"What?"

"Which one?"

The two men exited the elevator and walked across the lobby, where Clark intercepted them, holding up the newspaper. "Joe, Mr. Halloran. What's this?"

"Clark?" Joe was startled at Clark's unexpected appearance.

Clark shoved the paper in his face, pointing to the picture of a women's body. "All she did was trip over a rug and you helped her up. Why is she dead?"

"Clark, what are you talking about?" Joe recoiled, his hands going up unconsciously to push the paper away.

"This is the woman I saw you with in your apartment. The woman Devon saw you kill."

Halloran was startled by Clark's accusation. "What?"

Joe's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you mean you saw?"

"Okay, my apartment is in the building next to yours and we can see everything that happens there through your windows. I know...I know I should have told you, but I didn't." Clark gestured at the other man. "Mr. Halloran knows." Clark was suddenly struck by the odd coincidence. "Wait a minute. How do you know Mr. Halloran?"

Halloran blustered, "Clark, my God, we really need to talk!"

"Clark, let's get to the car. We're running late, aren't we?" Joe tried to take Clark's elbow, but Clark avoided him.

"I'm not going anywhere with you!"

Halloran moved close behind Joe and Clark heard an all too familiar sound and Halloran insisted, "I think we should *all* have a talk."

Suspicious, Clark looked *through* Joe to see a cocked handgun jammed against his spine. He was thinking rapidly, assessing whether to use his abilities in front of everyone in this lobby. If he didn't make the right moves, Joe could end up dead or paralyzed. Listening carefully, he identified at least two other threats behind him readying their firearms. He could see Joe's eyes scan the room also and register their locations.

Just as Clark decided to risk shifting into high speed, Joe went into action. A knife holder slid into the palm of his hand as he turned and grabbed the gun from Halloran, delivering a solid fist to his jaw. Whirling, he yanked Clark out of the line of fire, and threw one of the knives, pinning the gun hand of the man on the left to his own shoulder. Pivoting, moving faster than any human Clark had ever met before, Joe had another knife in the air. This time, he'd reversed the knife so that the pommel hit the second man in the center of his forehead, dropping him to the floor, out cold.

Still holding Clark's arm, Joe dragged him out the revolving doors to his waiting car. Clark decided to play along with him for now, in the hopes of uncovering the connection between Halloran, Joe, and Megan O'Brien. He jumped into the passenger seat, closing the car door just as Joe pulled away from the curb. The three men ran out behind them, firing several times after the car before Joe turned the corner. Fortunately, they weren't hit, although the rear windshield sustained damage.

After checking for pursuers, and dropping the two bullets he had caught behind the seat, Clark took a calming breath and asked, "Why is Mr. Halloran shooting at us?"

Glancing at Clark, Joe answered reluctantly. "Because he's not Mr. Halloran. He's Vadim Strukov, a very well-connected Russian criminal."

Clark thought for a moment. "So, are you a cop?"

"Kind of."

Suspicious, Clark folded his arms and demanded, "I want to see your badge."

"I don't have one."

"Why don't you have a badge?"

Joe shrugged, "Because I'm undercover."

Frustrated at Joe's uninformative answers, Clark decided to take things into his own hands. "Oh really? I'm undercover too. Do you want to see my badge? Whoops, I don't have one!" He grabbed the steering wheel and forced the car into a nearby alley. Joe hit the brakes just in time to avoid hitting a dumpster. Jumping out of the car, Clark ran around the rear, intending to pull Joe out of the car and get some straight answers.

Joe met him halfway. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Using his full height and size for intimidation, Clark loomed over Joe, fists clenched. "Listen, I want some real answers. Devon saw you...saw you murder that woman. How do you explain that?"

Joe backed up a step, putting his hands up in a plea for calm. "There was no murder. The whole thing was staged for Strukov, who was on a roof across the courtyard watching."

"I don't understand."

"Look, I'm a federal agent. With the FBI? So's Megan."

"FBI?" Clark's head was spinning. He wanted so badly to believe Joe was innocent, that his heart could be trusted.

"Yes. Megan's cover was blown so we staged it as a way for me to prove my loyalty. That picture in 'The Post'? We planted it. Strukov was getting suspicious when no body showed up."

 

"What do those Russian guys do?" Clark was used to dealing with simple crimes like theft or assault. He wasn't sure how handle something this complicated.

Instead of ignoring Clark's question and leaving, Joe tried to explain. "When criminals like Strukov make hundreds of millions of illegal dollars, they can't just put it in a bank. They find some young...hotshot like me. They give me the money, I buy the dresses from Antwerp and then they import them back here and the money's clean."

"Well, for hundreds of millions of dollars they must be selling a whole lot of dresses."

"That's just it. They're not. They're hardly selling any." Joe took out his cell phone and dialed.

Clark was still trying to understand. "Then how do they get their money?"

Joe exploded in frustration. "I was about to find out when you showed up early and blew my cover!"

Clark felt terrible; he'd ruined an FBI operation with his amateur investigation. He tried to defend his actions, even though he knew it was too late. "I was only early because I was so excited about going away with you for the weekend."

Joe's anger subsided and his face softened as he reached out. "Clark, I'm sorry. I didn't plan to meet you or to get so involved with you or..." A voice sounded from his phone. "Hold on, I'm getting through." He began to speak rapidly, not waiting for the other person to reply, "Halloran is actually Vadim Strukov. He's the Chairman. He was under my nose the whole time. He was talking about a meeting on a Runway Five. I don't know which airport, cover them all."

Trying to stay calm and give Joe a chance, Clark started to examine the damage to the car. Spotting the circular holes left in the windshield by several bullets, he made a connection. "Wait, those were bullet holes in Mr. Halloran's painting!"

"What! What are you talking about?" Joe hung up the phone and hurried to where Clark was pointing at the windshield.

"I'm privately restoring a painting for Mr. Halloran. That's how we met." Another piece fell into place for Clark. "Oh my God, it was a Russian painting!"

"He's been to your apartment?" Joe pushed Clark towards the passenger door before jumping in and starting the car.

Clark held on as Joe floored the accelerator and tore out into traffic, tires squealing. "Oh no, do you think my roommates are in danger?" Joe just looked at him in disbelief and grabbed his inhaler. "Damn! Let me have your cell phone and I'll call them." If he couldn't reach them, he would just have to tell Joe to stop the car so he could run, and leave the explanations for later.

 

***

 

Chapter 14

 

***

 

"Okay, Clark, we won't open the door for anyone until you get here. Bye." Candi hung up the phone just as Adrian walked into the room followed by three men carrying guns. "Adrian, Clark just said not to let anyone in!"

Adrian shrugged, "They jumped the waiting list."

 

...

 

As Joe and Clark pulled up to the apartment building, they saw all four models being forced into a car at gunpoint. Telling Clark to stay put, Joe drew a gun as he exited the car and called out, "FBI, freeze! Put your hands on your head." The models all instantly complied. "Not you, the guys with the guns!" Joe was having difficulty covering all three gunmen by himself. They were too far apart.

Of course, Clark had not stayed in the car and was trying to make his way to the side of the building where he might have a chance to use his heat vision unseen. That plan failed when Hamlet caught sight of him and ran across the road barking, eager to renew his acquaintance. Joe saw Hamlet running towards Clark and turned his head to call the dog back. With Joe distracted by the dog, it was easy for the closest gunman to approach him and knock him out with a blow to the head.

Clark, while fending off the dog, was frantically assessing his choices. Broad daylight, three men with guns, witnesses on the street and buildings. There was a chance that innocent people could get hurt if he tried to take out three gunmen at once. He wasn't ready for this; he hadn't come up with a plan to handle this type of situation. He decided to go along with the models and Joe, who was still unconscious, and hope for better odds.

 

***

 

Clark was glad he'd been dumped behind the dress rack that was bolted to the floor. The dresses were just long enough to conceal his movements from the guard that remained behind. He'd already broken the ropes securing his hands and feet and was waiting for the right time to free the others.

Adrian pushed himself upright. "Will someone please tell me what is going on?"

"Joe's an undercover FBI agent," answered Clark absently. He was using his x-ray vision to pinpoint the location of the other gunmen.

Candi disagreed. "No, he's not. Everyone knows he's Joe Alexander."

Something about that statement brought Clark bolt upright. "Oh my God, Joe's not even your real name. I slept with a man and I don't even know his real name." Berating himself for being so stupid and trusting, Clark asked, "Okay *Joe*, so what is your real name?"

Wincing, Joe confessed, "Luthor...Alexander Joseph Luthor, but I prefer Lex."

After looking at the contents of the room, Lana decided she would share her thoughts. "Well, Joe, Lex, or whatever your name is; if you're ever pretending to be in the fashion business again, here's a little tip. Except for strippers, women like jewelry on their fingers, not their tits." She pointed to the racks of dresses like the one that Candi had inadvertently stolen earlier.

Clark suggested, "Maybe there are a lot of strippers in Antwerp." He was making his way slowly to Lex, hoping to free him before the guard noticed. Maybe the discussion would distract him.

"Antwerp? Nobody makes dresses in Antwerp," snorted Devon.

Lana sniffed in disdain, "The only thing that comes from Antwerp is diamonds, good ones."

Without any warning, Lex started to bite at the nearest dress, ripping at it with his teeth.

Clark was alarmed at his actions. "What are you doing?"

"Kinky," giggled Candi.

After a few more tugs at the dress, Lex spit one of the crystals from the dress on the floor. "If that was a rhinestone, I would have been able to crush it instead of chipping my tooth." He shook his head in chagrin. "The dresses. I was so obsessed with tracking the money I forgot about the dresses. Antwerp, Russia. They weren't laundering money. They're smuggling diamonds!"

Lana laughed at the suggestion. "But you can go to Tiffany's and get a fat businessman from Cleveland to buy you all the diamonds you want."

Adrian supplied the reason. "Not Russian diamonds. It's illegal to take diamonds out of country."

The guard had been listening to the exchange and stood up, upset. "That's why Strukov never let me take one for girlfriend...or wife!" He grabbed one of the dresses and started examining it more carefully. Clark took the opportunity to untie Lex's feet since they were the closest to him. Lex winked at him and kept his feet out of sight while he tried to convince the guard to let them go.

"Harold, I'll make a deal with you right now, you get us out of here and turn state's evidence, and I guarantee they'll go easy on you. Think about it Harold, Federal Witness Protection program? We're booking people into Hawaii right now."

Adrian laughed and starting talking to Harold in Russian. Harold walked closer, fascinated by what Adrian was telling him about Hawaii, until he was in reach of Lex's legs. A quick sweep and kick by Joe and Harold was down on the floor. Clark grabbed the gun before Harold hit the ground and handed it to Lex after untying his hands.

Devon was impressed. "At least he wasn't lying about the black belt."

It didn't take very long to release everyone else and secure Harold. Before they left the room, Lex selected one of the hanging dresses and ripped off a sleeve, placing it in his pocket.

Lana came up behind him. "What are you doing?"

"Evidence." When Lana leaned forward and ripped the remaining sleeve off, he was puzzled. "What are *you* doing?"

She shrugged. "Tennis bracelet."

 

***

 

Chapter 15

 

***

 

While shepherding the group past racks of sparkling dresses in the main section of the garment factory, Lex snagged one of the redecorated frocks. "See, the diamonds are replaced by cheap zirconium before they're shipped for sale." He showed the dress to Clark.

Clark really didn't give a damn about diamonds or dresses or Russian criminals. He wanted to discuss the important things in his life. "So everything we've been through together is a lie?"

Distracted, checking for pursuit, Lex's answer was less than diplomatic. "Not everything, just the little things."

Angered at the dismissal, Clark's voice became deeper as he pursued his point. "Like your name, your job, and the fact that all your exes are in the Witness Protection Program?"

The change in Clark's voice brought Lex's head around in shock, but he had no time to reply as shouts came from behind them. Their escape had been discovered and it was time to move quickly. Running down the aisle between the banks of sewing machines, Candi and Lana were soon left behind as they struggled with their high heels. Seeing an open door, Lex ran ahead to make sure they were clear, Adrian and Devon were close behind. Clark, bringing up the rear so he could shield the women from any shots, finally picked both of them up, holding one under each arm, and ran for the door.

Lex was waiting outside and he only raised his eyebrows when he saw Clark's baggage. He pointed to a limo that was just outside the door, the engine running. Devon and Adrian were already inside, based on the shouts of "Hey this is my limo!" and "What do you think you're doing?" Clark spotted the open sunroof, dropped Candi and Lana inside, and then he and Lex dove through the doors.

In the back of the limo, the models were trying to sort themselves out after their precipitous entrance. An older man wearing a black trench coat and silk scarf, presumably the limo owner, waved his champagne flute at them and demanded, "Who the hell are you people? This is my limo! Really!" Before any explanations could be offered, the Russians ran out of the building and started firing. The models screamed as the chauffeur roared out of the parking space until the owner reassured his uninvited guests, "Don't worry, I got the limo at the Jackie auction, it's totally bulletproof."

Candi looked up and gushed, "Mr. Alfredo? I'm Candi and let me just say it's such an honor to meet you."

He sniffed in response, "Thank you dear, but don't tease. It's bad enough that half my models cancelled on me because of the flu. Now what am I supposed to do for my five o'clock runway show?" He subsided into his seat, fretting.

Lana nudged Devon and whispered, "Everybody knows Alfredo has the hottest runway."

Lex, who had been trying to help Candi to a seat, overheard Lana. He frowned and repeated "Runway?" His frown cleared and he grabbed his cell phone. He was able to get through immediately. "Pete, it's Joe, I mean Lex."

Meanwhile, Lana had her own plans. "So Alfredo, you need models?"

Miffed, Alfredro barked, "Well, what the hell have I been saying?"

Adrian, pulling himself onto the seat, retorted, "Well, what the hell do we look like?"

Alfredo looked them over. "Models with attitude...I like it." He waved his hand regally. "You're all hired."

"Hey, you know we're still being chased by those Russian guys," Clark objected.

Adrian snorted, "Hell, we lost those losers ages ago and look, hanging with the G-man brought us a good gig."

Lex's voice rose over the models' banter. "Listen, it's not an airport runway, they're meeting at fashion show runways. It makes perfect sense!"

Clark turned his attention from the models to Lex's conversation, resisting the urge to tune into the speaker at the other end of the line.

Lex's voice was getting louder as he argued. "I know I screwed up." He rubbed the back of his neck and loosened his tie. "I had him, but I lost him." Clark could see Lex's face start to close down and he was glad he wasn't the one Lex was angry with and then he heard, "Clark showed up early and blew my cover."

Clark's mouth dropped open in shock as Lex continued, "No, I didn't tell him who...No, *of course* I lied to him." Shrinking in on himself, Clark just wished this awful mess would end as Lex finished his call with, "No, I'm pulling up to the building now. If he shows up here, I can bust him. Trust me."

The limo pulled up and everyone exited. Lex held Clark back as he told the rest, "You guys make your way through the crowd and be careful." After they had left, he clasped Clark's shoulder tightly and tried to get Clark to look at him. "Look Clark, I have to find Strukov, but I'm going to personally make sure you get out of here without any problems. I don't want people asking questions about you."

Clark shrugged the hand off carelessly and let his bitter disappointment color his response, "Gee thanks, Joe, Lex, whatever your name is, but you go do what's important to you. I'll be fine on my own." He walked after his friends.

"Clark!"

He never turned around.

Hurrying to catch up, Clark entered the chaos known as backstage. Racks of colorful clothing zoomed past dressing tables where models were having their hair and makeup done in extreme styles. The sound of yelling assistants blended into the pounding beat of the music out front. Standing there, looking for his friends, he was startled when Alfredo pointed as he scurried by with his assistant in tow. "Okay, this is the last one. Make him beautiful."

Clark stared after him, stunned. "But I'm not a model!" Throwing off the clutching hands of the assistants, Clark tried to make his way to the side where he could keep an eye on his roommates. Before he could get very far, he spotted Strukov's men entering the area and he reversed direction. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he sat down in front of the mirror and kept his face down as the hairdresser started fluffing his curls. Catching sight of the clothing that he was supposed to wear, Clark shook his head and muttered, "Not again..."

 

***

 

Chapter 16

 

***

 

Clark decided that whoever thought a model his height should wear 6-inch platform boots needed a fitting for a straightjacket. Immediately. Standing up, he balanced precariously while he was shoehorned into a fitted floor-length black faux fur. Wondering how that possibly matched the slashed iridescent t-sheet underneath or the laced purple leather pants, he was glad he worked with Renaissance art, not fashion design. Between the outfit, black slashes of eye makeup and spiked hair, he was sure Strukov's men wouldn't recognize him, but he wasn't that lucky. He saw them point across the room and tuning in, heard Harold remind them to be discreet and not attract attention. Clark fervently hoped that meant that guns would stay in underarm holsters instead of being used to collect hostages.

Spotting the other models lined up for their turn under the lights, Clark moved in that direction, intending to duck out at the last minute. Unfortunately, distracted by one of the Russians, he made a wrong turn and backed out...onto the runway. The lights and pounding music were disorienting, and when he turned to head for the other exit, he tripped over his own platform-clad feet, measuring his considerable length down the runway.

Scrambling to his feet as best as he could with the boots from hell, Clark realized he was a third of the way down the runway and that leaving would only draw more attention to him. Drawing himself up to his full height, Clark managed to start moving towards the far end of the runway, desperately trying to remember how Devon and Adrian looked when they were practicing. He was sure it wasn't working when he passed Lana on her way back in and she just stared at him with a horrified expression. When he reached the end of the runway and began to turn around, he discovered a different reason for the look of horror. Strukov was sitting there front and center.

Praying that the clothes and makeup would be enough of a disguise, Clark made his turn in time to see Devon and Adrian tackle one of Strukov's men who had climbed onto the runway. The turn also knocked Clark off-balance again and he fell over backwards, right on top of Strukov. The chair collapsed, sending both men to the ground.

By now, the show was in total chaos with men fighting, women screaming and Alfredo throwing a fit. Clark once again managed to regain his feet and hauled Strukov up. He held on to him and then grabbed another of his men before he could pull his gun. Standing there, he was trying to figure out where to take his prisoners when Lex ran up to him pulling a knife. He looked in Clark's eyes and said, "Trust me," then threw the knife at Clark. Clark felt the knife pass close to his ear and turned his head to see Harold holding his hand, the knife through it, and his gun on the ground. Clark looked back at Lex and deadpanned, "I never did apologize for saying you threw like a girl."

 

...

 

After Alfredo took his bows and the runway show was declared a hit for 'its sense of theater', after the faux fur and platform boots were discarded, and after the bad guys were lead away in handcuffs, Clark and his roommates sat on the end of the runway and compared stories. The same officer who had been so rude when they reported Megan's murder interrupted them.

"I should have guessed if there was any sort of fashion fiasco you would be in the center of it."

Lana laughed in derision. "The only fashion fiasco here is your haircut, Sparky."

Before the officer could begin abusing them, the lead agent for the FBI came over to the group. "Excuse me officer, but I'd like to talk to these five young people. Agent Luthor says he couldn't have solved this case without you. I'm going to be recommending that all of you receive commendations. Thanks for your help." He left after shaking their hands.

Devon held out his hand towards the obnoxious officer, fingers spread wide. "That's five separate commendations, if you can count that high." The officer left without a word. He passed Lex, who was walking towards the group, his eyes on Clark.

One of the other agents called out, "Nice work Luthor!"

Lex waved back, "Thanks, Megan." When Clark looked to see who had spoken, he was pleasantly surprised to see the blonde who triggered his investigation. It was good to see her alive.

Lex was standing in front of Clark finally. "Can I talk to you?" He jerked his head to the side, indicating he wanted Clark to move away from the others. Clark took a few reluctant steps.

Lex reached out, trying to take Clark's hand. "I owe you an apology. I...uh...This is not the best place for this." Disappointed when Clark pulled his hand away, Lex rubbed his neck and grimaced. "I'm sorry I lied to you. But, I'm not sorry that I met you." Lex looked into Clark's eyes, hoping to make him see how much he wanted to make things right. "So...I was hoping you could forgive me and maybe we could start over."

Clark had listened to Lex's apology and plea without saying a word. Now he gazed into Lex's eyes for several long moments before he shook his head slowly in refusal. "I don't know. You see, I just ended this relationship with this guy Joe because he wasn't honest with me. I'm not sure I'm ready to start a new one with...whoever you are."

Lex stood there, hoping that he'd heard Clark wrong, that he'd misunderstood his words until the lead agent came over, looped his arm over his shoulders, and pulled him away. "Let's go Lex; we're going to be filling out paperwork for the rest of our lives."

Clark stood there, heartbroken, and watched Lex walk away. He only looked back once, eyes shadowed, before he was gone.

 

***

 

Chapter 17

 

***

 

3 weeks after goodbye

 

He was going to have to tell Mr. Rankin he was done with the Titian. It would leave the workshop and go back on the wall of the museum and he would look the other way when he walked by so that face wouldn't remind him of how big an idiot he was. Clark sat there, mournfully contemplating the loss of what could have been his love of a lifetime. He was so caught up in his self-pity that he failed to hear Chloe and Candi enter the workroom.

"You finished. It's magnificent." Chloe gave him a quick hug from behind after peeking over his shoulder at the painting.

Candi nodded, "Yeah, At least he was good for something."

Clark swiveled on his stool and took in the sight of his two friends dressed in matching argyle sweaters, sun visors and golf shorts. "How was Palm Beach?"

Chloe slid her arm around Candi's waist and pulled her closer. "It was great! We had a wonderful time at the Dinah Shore tournament."

"Well, you both look fantastic, especially since Candi doesn't have any bandages anywhere."

"Those days of unnecessary surgery are over. I like my girl just the way she is." Chloe grinned and kissed Candi on the cheek. "Have you talked to him?"

"No, his phone was disconnected when he moved and his cell number has changed. Not that I tried calling him or anything."

"He moved?"

"Yeah, it only took two movers five hours to pack and move everything. Not that I was watching of course."

Candi marveled, "It's like he was never there."

Clark frowned at the painting, "You know...I kind of don't want this reminder for all eternity. I've been thinking about rubbing him out and using a different face."

"Oh, okay." Chloe moved to the table, dipped a cotton swab in paint thinner, and presented it to Clark. "Here you go, rub away!" When Clark pushed her hand back, she snorted, "Clark, admit it. You're not ready to give up on him." Clark nodded sadly.

Candi had been studying the painting and she asked, "Why does he only have one eye?"

"Because you're only seeing the side of his face, his profile," Chloe explained patiently.

Candi laughed, "I think it makes him look like a fish. I know a lot about water. Australia's an island, you know."

Clark stilled as he suddenly remembered, "Mr. Fishtank."

 

6 weeks after goodbye

 

"Aren't you tired of looking at fish yet?" Lana finished her martini and signaled for a refill. "I mean, you've been there every day for three weeks." Clark, Chloe and the roommates had gotten together for drinks after work and the subject was once again Clark's non-existent love life.

Devon reached across and patted Clark's hand. "Maybe you should think about going out on a date with someone else, sweetie. I've seen you turn down more than one invitation the last few times we've gone out."

"They're whales, not fish and I just can't. All I see is his face looking back at me after I...threw him away. I don't know why, but it just seems wrong to think about replacing him with someone new." Clark laid his head back against the booth and closed his eyes, sighing.

Chloe poked him in the side. "So are you finally ready to let me see what I can find out?"   
Clark opened his eyes and looked at her before nodding, "Please."

 

2 months after goodbye

 

"Did Lex ever mention why he was bald?" Chloe had showed up at the museum with her laptop and some answers, Clark hoped.

"No, it never really came up." Clark's cheeks grew hot when he remembered what *had* come up, more than once that night.

Chloe had turned on her laptop and was bringing up her notes. "He was in Smallville the day the meteors hit. He ended up in the hospital for a few days, came out completely bald."

"What was he doing in Smallville? His family didn't live there, did they?" Clark couldn't believe his arrival had caused Lex's baldness. It seemed it was impossible for him to leave his guilt behind, no matter where he went. "I have to say he was a good actor. He never even flinched when I told him where I grew up."

Chloe looked up, excited, "No, he's not from Smallville, he's one of the Metropolis Luthors, Lionel's oldest son. At least he was until Lionel disinherited him. Now Lucas Dunleavy, one of Lionel's illegitimate kids, is the heir. That's why the name sounded familiar to me; they owned the plant in Smallville until it shut down." Chloe frowned, "What's really odd is how little I found in the online Smallville Ledger about the meteors. I expected to at least read about Greg Arkin or Tina or some of the other mutants you handled while you were there. I remember you emailing me about them and that you'd been questioned by the police a couple of times. I thought I'd read the articles back then, but I guess I was wrong. Too bad I left Smallville before I could take over the school newspaper, I would have made you famous."

Clark was actually happy there weren't any stories about him online; it was tough enough hiding his abilities without having his name showing up in online searches. As for Chloe not being in Smallville to document his exploits? Sometimes life was good. "So what else did you find out about Lex? Do you have his address or phone number?"

"Not yet. Breaking into FBI personnel files takes a little extra finesse. As much as I'd like to fix your love life, I'd prefer to stay out of prison. I did find his college records, though. He graduated from Yale with a law degree as well as a Masters in Computer Science. The FBI had him signed up before he graduated. I'll give him credit; he certainly isn't following in daddy's dirty footsteps." Chloe closed her laptop. "It probably helped that he didn't need Lionel's money to go to school, he was able to use the money his mother left him. He's obviously working for the FBI because he loves his job." She looked up at Clark with a rueful smile. "Congratulations, you managed to dump a multi-millionaire."

 

3 months after goodbye

 

As much as he loved his parents, Clark wasn't sorry to see them leave after their weeklong visit. It was always difficult dealing with their disappointment in his career choice. His father, in particular, kept talking about Clark's failure to use his abilities 'for the greater good' and that art wasn't 'useful'. Sometimes he just wanted to yell at them about needing something for himself; that he couldn't just spend all his time running around fixing things for everyone else. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd stopped his nightly walks, they just didn't show up in the newspapers anymore, as though invisibility was one of his new abilities.

Leaving the airport after seeing his parents off, Clark considered the little tidbit his mother had shared while they waited for their flight. Was it coincidence that a fire destroyed Smallville Ledger back issues at the same time New York newspapers stopped reporting on a certain vigilante? He'd probably never know for sure, but he wasn't going to complain about the results.

Clark made it to the aquarium in time for his twice-weekly stint as a docent. He'd found that teaching children about the creatures on display was a potent antidote for the nightly evils he encountered. Finishing his lecture on cetaceans, Clark waved goodbye to his young audience before returning to his favorite display.

Drawn into the soothing rhythms of the whales' sounds and movements, Clark didn't register the presence of another person until he heard, "Are you the new expert on beluga whales that I've heard so much about?"

Clark was afraid to turn around. He'd imagined hearing Lex's voice so often these last months, only to be disappointed when it was only a dream. "I'm not sure. Who did you hear it from?"

"I know some people."

Clark felt the welcome warmth of the visitor's body as he came closer and then stood next to him. Glancing sideways, he saw the profile that he had hoped for and his grin was irrepressible. Taking a deep breath, he ventured, "Not many people know the name beluga is derived from the Russian word belukha, which means white."

"That's fascinating. Would you be interested in joining me for a cup of coffee so you could share some more interesting secrets?"

Turning to face his admirer, Clark replied, "I don't even know your name. Perhaps we should introduce ourselves first?"  
"Of course...how presumptuous of me. My name is Lex Luthor and I've moved back to New York recently to take a new position as head of Records with the local FBI office. And you?"

Clark offered a handshake. "I'm Clark Kent and I work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Restorations. You have no idea how happy I am to meet you."

 

***

 

Epilogue

 

***

 

"So, when you offered me that cup of coffee I wasn't expecting we'd be drinking it in your new apartment that is coincidentally one floor above your old one."

Lex handed Clark a mug. "I thought sharing secrets would be easier if we weren't worried about the other coffee shop patrons overhearing. Don't you agree?" Filling Clark's mug, Lex offered him cream and sugar. "After all, some secrets are so powerful that they could spread at the speed of sound. Although some people might not get hurt, it's better not to take the chance."

Clark almost dropped the mug. "How long have you known?"

Lex led Clark over to the sofa and gently urged him to sit. "I started suspecting at the aquarium. When I turned on the lights, you were standing in front of the tank. All I could see was your shape, and it was identical to my unknown rescuer. Later, when we were in the car, I was sure I saw you catch a bullet when I looked in the rear view mirror." Lex took the mug from Clark as he saw it start to tip. "I was sure when you were so angry with me at the factory. Your voice, your shape, and the things you could do like breaking ropes and carrying two women at once. I knew you were the one."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to, but you were so angry and hurt that I couldn't. Not then. I knew I needed more information, so I did what I'm very good at, investigated you. The more I found, the more I realized you needed to be protected from people who would want to take you apart in a lab if they could." Setting the mug down, Lex sat next to Clark and took his hands between his own. "Being in charge of records at the FBI puts me in a good position to do that."

"The fire in Smallville?"

"Let's just say your past in Smallville is no longer part of public record. I've also decided that paying off any beneficiaries of your nightly travels to be worth every penny. After all, too much attention on the mutant phenomenon in Smallville would expose me too. You're not the only one who was changed that day." Lex ran his hand over his head. "In my case it's not just the hair, it's my ability to heal and how that affects my aging."

Unable to sit still any longer, Clark rose and walked a few steps away. He turned his back on Lex and closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. "You've done so much for me and I'm not even human."

"Technically, neither am I anymore. Clark, I don't care what you are, it wouldn't make any difference in how I feel even if you told me you fell down from the sky with those meteors." Lex left the sofa and gently placed his hand on Clark's back. "It doesn't matter what you are or where you came from because I want you and I need you. We belong together."

Wiping his eyes, Clark finally faced Lex and smiled. "You're right, we do. After all, you are the high priest of a new religion." His simple smile widened to a blinding grin.

Lex suddenly staggered. "Whoa, that's a weird feeling, having your knees suddenly give out."

Clark laughed and gathered him into his arms. "Yes, it is." He backed Lex up to the sofa, pushed him down gently, and then walked over to the windows where he proceeded to close the curtains.

Lex grinned at Clark over the back of the sofa. "About that thing you do with your back..."


End file.
